


The World Turned Upside Down

by SpeckledCoffeeCups



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Anxiety, Cancer, Consensual Violence - Alex and John wrestle to release anxiety, F/F, F/M, Gen, Honestly Adrienne could kill me and I'd say thank you, M/M, Multi, Revolution in modern setting, SALLY AND THOMAS ARE NOT MY SHIP I JUST NEEDED TO PROVE A POINT THAT JEFFERSON IS A FUCKING ASSHOLE, Suicide mention, failed revolution, mention of poor mental health
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2018-08-15 06:48:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 50,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8046379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpeckledCoffeeCups/pseuds/SpeckledCoffeeCups
Summary: The war was over.  And the Patriots lost. Aides to camp and spies are hung three days after the surrender, giving them the label Traitor.Flash forward to the 21st century and they have been reincarnated, and they are out for blood.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. I'm so anxious to post this, and I've had this floating around my head for the longest time. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I have, and please let me know in the comments what you think!  
> Thank you so much!

**1781**

The war was over. A young man in a blue coat stands on a parapet waving a white handkerchief.   Major General Hamilton’s heart drops to his stomach.  They lost.  Everything he worked for, his wife, unborn child, family, friends.  All the essays he had published. 

Everything was for not.

He looks to the Maquis sitting proudly on his horse. His dear friend would be sitting high and unashamed in this moment.  He knew the consequences of fighting the British with America and loosing.

“Mon ami, it seems our efforts have failed.” His eyes hold true on the man waving the flag.

“That it does.” Hamilton responds, fingering the grip of his gun.

“What’s going to happen to us?” The brunette man to his right asks.  John Laurens.  His dearest Laurens. 

“Death.” Laurens flinches at the word but doesn’t look away. “Don’t worry I’ve heard it’s quick,”

Marquis wets his lips and grips the reins of his horse tighter. “Washington would be disappointed.”

“Washington is dead.  He’s been dead for three months.” Hamilton doesn’t have time for reminiscing.  He breaths deep. “I must write to my wife.  I need to let her know I love her and our child.” He turns on his heal and marches through the camp to his tent.  The mud squishes under his foot and he doesn’t want to begin thinking about what this means. 

Surrender? Are they cowards, unable to fight till every last one of them is dead?  It’s more honorable to die on the battlefield in glory than with a noose around his neck, or being shot dead in a firing line. He would rather die in battle a thousand times than have to stand by and watch his friends suffer.  He enters his tent with a whirl wind of emotion following him. 

His baby.  His unborn child will never know of their father as anything but a _traitor._ A traitor.  He hates the way it feels on his tongue, but he must get used to it.  That’s his legacy.

Hamilton fights aside the feeling of dread and grabs parchment and a quill.  He dips the quill in the ink well and hastily scratches words down. His normally swift and clean penmanship is scratchy and swoopy, words blending into each other, _y_ s and _gs_ interfering with words bellow and his _t_ s scratching through words above it.  Ink splatters on the corner of the page mixing with tears, staining his normally pristine words.

A hand touches him.  He drops his quill, watching another ink blot stain his parchment. Both his hands grip the edge of his desk.

“Alexander.”

“We are going to die aren’t we my dearest Laurens.”

“I’m afraid so.”

He swallows past a ragged sob and stands to his full height, still smaller than his dearest Laurens. “If we are to die, I want you to know I loved you Laurens.  I pray Heaven is generous and lets me see you after these days have past.”

Laurens smiles as tears track down his face.  He’s even more terrified than Hamilton.

“I loved you as well my Alexander.”

A figure pushes into the tent quietly. Marquis de La Fayette.

“Mon cher.  We need you-“

“Marquis.  We lost. My wife is pregnant, we lost the war, and the only chance of survival is running away to some God forsaken land.  Britain will not spare our lives.” He breathes deep and shakes his head to clear his thoughts. “My apologies my dear Marquis.  Please, I beg of you, go home with the French fleet. Escape the fate that we are destined for!” The Marquis laughs and touches his dear friends face, gripping it between his hands.

“Mon cher, I knew the risks when I joined General Washington many years ago. I do not regret a single moment spent I have spent in the Americas.” He presses a kiss to both of Alexander’s cheeks, before repeating the same for Laurens.

“Hold your heads high mon amis.  The British will not take our spirit.” 

The next day anyone of rank was taken into custody by the British. Marquis holds his head high the entire time, a sly smile on his mouth.  They agree to the terms of surrender, granted their families are left out of the coming bloodshed.

They are set to be hung the coming Monday.  The officers and spies are walked from the holding cell that day.  The British officers take letters each of the men have written and hand them to a courier.  Alex hands three letters.  One to his dearest Betsey, one to his unborn child, and one to Angelica Church.  He has no family, besides those three.  The courier, a young black man, carefully places the letters in his bag.

Hercules Mulligan stands behind Alexander and shakes the boy’s hand.  “Thank you Cato.  Godspeed to you.”

Gunshots sound. A drum beats. And the members of the Culper Ring are lead to the noose.  Alexander watches, unable to tears his eyes away.  These gentlemen are some of his dearest friends.  He holds eye contact with each man, only having to tear away on Mulligan.  Mulligan understands and holds his head higher when the noose is slipped around his neck. 

General Howe steps forward holding a length of parchment at arms-length. “Today on the 24 of October Year of Our Lord 1781, we hang traitors of His Excellency King George the Third. The charges are of treason, and acting as spies against his Excellency. How do you plead to these charges?”

Caleb Brewster laughs.  “Off with his head!” He shouts.  A redcoat behind him receives a condemning glance from General Howe, before the soldier pushes Brewster off the edge of the gallows cutting his shout off with gargled gasps. Hamilton has to look away. It’s not surprising Brewster’s words are the pushing point before he dies. A final gasp and twitch of his foot and Brewster is still. It leaves a sick feeling in his mouth.

“Any last words?” The remaining members speak together.

“When in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected the with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature’s God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.” General Howe smirks.

“So be it.” The men are shoved off the platform and the collective struggle for breath, weighs down the air. Mulligan is the last to fall silent. There’s a lull in the activity as slaves are forced forward to cut down the men. Cato cries as he takes charge of his previous master’s body with care. 

The next round of Gunshots sound, and the drum beats again.  The Aides de Camp are lead to the Gallows. 

Laurens swallows and takes a last breath before the rope makes a necklace, tying his fate. He meets Alexander’s eyes.  Tears and fear.  That’s all he can see.  Hamilton jerks his chin up and swallows as his own noose slips around his neck.  Marquis sniffs, pressing his face into his shoulder muffling a sniffle. The soldiers tie their hands behind their back.  The simple action makes Hamilton’s heart accelerate.

Alex forces himself to look forward and breathe.  He’s thought about death too much for a sane man.  Imagined what it would be like.  He’s prayed for death a thousand times.  When his mother died, when the hurricane hit, when he was faced with relentless opposition from Washington. 

He closes his eyes.  He can hear Washington, congratulating him on the war.  He can see his Betsey holding their son.  A son. He loves his child more than he can image.  He sees Mulligan.  Smiling through tears calling him forward.  He can see his mother, oh he missed his mother.  He reaches for her, falls.

And then it’s over.

**21 st Century**

“Alexander Hadley!” The Caribbean boy jumps as his name is called.  “Since you seem determined to ignore the lesson why don’t you tell me about the rebel’s surrender of 1781.” The teacher demands.  Alexander stands, his small frame being swallowed by a large sweater. 

“The patriots surrendered on the 19th of October. The terms of surrender stated all aides de camp would be hung alongside members of the Culper Ring and in exchange their families would be spared. A year to the day after the hanging the families were slaughtered.”

The teacher nods.  He knows the boy is smart.  “What was most notable about the hanging?” This isn’t unusual.  The students are about to graduate; they know the world was darker. But Alex can feel a pressure on his neck. Phantom fingers graze his skin and he raises a hand to scratch the digits away.

“The members of the Culper Ring members quoted the intro to the Rebellion Essay before they died.” He can hear the words echo in his ears, and he can hear the strength it took to not cry out.

“Good. For tonight I want you to read the last portion of the text book, and be ready to review tomorrow.” The bell rings and students stand ready to shuffle to their lockers.  “Hadley.  A word?” Alex sighs, watching a loose friend send him a sympathetic glance before exiting the room.

Alex turns and grips his backpack tightly. “Yes Sir?”

“Hadley… take a seat.” Alex swallows but does as told. “How have you been?” He asks.  Alex raises an eyebrow.

“I’m sorry sir but what relevance does it have to class?”

“Oh Alex.” The instructor sighs rolling a pen with his fingers. “You look like you haven’t had a good nights sleep in weeks.  Am I correct?”

Alex nods, his body tense. “Yes sir.”

“What do you dream about?”

“Sir?”

“Is it bad?” Alex sucks on his cheek and nods. “You are not a blank Hadley.”

“But sir, the revelation?  I haven’t had one.” Alex swallows tightly and raises another hand to itch away the phantom touches. The revelation.  The time when old souls discover who they were.  Most happen before a person graduates High School, but on occasions it has been as late as 30.

“Alexander. Have you felt pain when there was none? Or heard things when no one was speaking?” The teacher asks leaning forward and pushing a dish of candies towards Alex. He takes a butterscotch.

“Yes sir.”

“Has it happened recently?” he asks as Alex crumples the wrapper.  He sucks on the candy letting the smooth rich flavor coat his tongue.

“Yes.” The teacher smiles kindly and hands him a book.

“Read up.  I think it’s time for the original fathers to come back.” He states grabbing his briefcase and jacket. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow Alexander.  Make sure you’ve read the text.” He says with a smirk before leaving the class room.  Alex looks down at the book in his hand.

_Britain’s First Traitors_

Alex flips to the back and skims the synopsis.  He tosses the book in his bag as he stands contemplating the information.  It’s not surprising his teacher handed him extra reading.  Since he could read, Alexander has read everything he could get his hands on; at one point he even read the entire Bible in King James because he was bored.

Maybe he wants Alex to write another essay, apply for another scholarship? Who knows. Alex thinks about this as he exits the front of the building and starts towards his neighborhood in the heavy Florida heat.

That night Alex almost forgets the book, and practically tosses it under his bed.  He’s half asleep when the ghost of a feeling crosses over his neck.  It’s not unpleasant.  But it’s not familiar.  He rubs a hand over the area of sensation and grumbles before checking the time. 

Midnight.  He won’t be sleeping any time soon it seems. Not like he’d want to sleep.  His dreams are awful, bloody and gruesome.  Last night he watched a man shoot himself in the head, and the night before someone hang from gallows.  He turns the light on and reaches for his backpack.  He reaches in and grabs the first book he can find, which happens to be _Britain’s First Traitors_.

He chews on the edge of his collar as he opens it to the first page.

_The year is 1607, and exiles from English countries land on the edge of modern day Maryland.  The first colony is born._

Alex shuts the book.  He doesn’t want to read this.  It’s already biased towards the immigrants; he doesn’t need that. He tosses it to the edge of his bed where it flips open to a different page. He ignores it and grabs his cell phone determined to distract himself.

It’s not working.  He can feel the book calling for him, begging him to read it.  He reasons a few pages won’t hurt his fragile ego.  He grabs the book and holds it open, the heading reads _Notable People._

Alex snorts but begins to read.  The stories are all familiar to him, but they are also more than that. He knows the struggles the author relays but he knows more than what the words say.  He knows Marquis De La Fayette fell asleep under a tree at Monmouth but not because he was lazy, but because he wanted to gossip with Washington about a General, Lee was it?  He knows Washington wasn’t killed like a coward, hiding behind his men, but he was struggling to drag an injured soldier away from harm.  He recognizes everything.  He swallows uncertain but continues to read. A letter forwards the selection.

 _My Dearest Betsey_  
  
I’m praying this letter never reaches you my love. But as fate has it, I’m afraid that is unlikely.    
  
My darling. We have been overcome.  On the 19 th of this month our troops have surrendered. The British have allowed us to say our goodbyes to our loved ones as is custom, but these words will never be able to capture the love I have for you. The decision to leave this earthly home is not mine, for I wish I could spend years with you my Betsey. 

_Do not worry over my fate, I will see you again in the heavenly castles of our Lord.  Tell our child how much their father regrets not being able to hold them and watch them grow.  I will always love you._

_Adieu best of wives and beset of Women.  Embrace our child and sisters for me._  
Ever Yours  
A H

Alexander takes a deep breath to steady his shaking hands. He closes his eyes and can see his own hands shaking as he scratches out the words on parchment.  The quill is light in his hand and his clothes are a familiar weight.  He can hear the muted voice of a friend.  He watches tears paint the parchment and a blotch of ink hit the stains the lower corner. 

He swallows and grabs his computer from the floor, opening a new search engine. 

 _How to know you’ve had a revelation_.

\----

Gilbert Marsielle was never this anxious.  But he knows this visit with the head of King’s College could make or break his career, that hasn’t started.  He’s only just finished his last year of schooling in France, and plans to never return.  King Louis XXII has agreed to merge with Britain.  

And he hates Britain.

After they killed Gilbert du Mortier, he never forgave them.  He was a boy.  Barely started life and because of a war, they started, he was killed. Strung up alongside friends because he fought for what was right. 

“Gilbert Marsielle.  We’re ready for you.” He swallows and stands pushing the sleeves up his arms. Grabbing his satchel, he follows the secretary to the back office.  He reviews his speech in his head and fiddles with a pen he’d been chewing on.  “Right in here. Dr. Watkins will be in soon.” She says.  He nods and examines the room.  A large mahogany desk is centered before bay windows.  A dark blue color coats the wall and an off white rug is in the center. Tall grey arm chairs are placed before the desk. Gilbert doesn’t move.  He doesn’t want to mess this up.

“Gilbert?” He turns and meets eyes with a tall bald man with dark eyes.

“Dr. Watkins.” The man smiles, lights shinning in his eyes.

“Nice to finally meet you. Have a seat, how was your trip?” He asks placing two cups of coffee on his desk. Gilbert eyes the two cups and Dr. Watkins chuckles.

“Sorry son, bad habit.” He says and Gilbert shrugs reaching for the mug.

“No problem. I like coffee.” He responds.  Dr. Watkins’ eyes light up again.

“Mr. Marsielle.  Do you mind me asking if you’ve had your revelation yet?” the Doctor is confident in his question.

“Yes sir. Are you a blank?” He asks.  The doctor smiles around his mug.

“Not exactly. But yourself?”

Gilbert swallows and chews on his tongue. “I… I was Gilbert du Mortier, Marquis de La Fayette.” The doctor drops his mug, the contents spilling across the off white rug.  “Doctor?”

“Lafayette,” he says his name like a prayer. “Oh Lord thank you.”

“Sir?” Gilbert doesn’t understand, this can’t be someone he knew from his first life.  It’s impossible. He sets his cup on the table. His breathing is shaky as he waits for the Doctor to say something.  He wets his lips before speaking.

“Call me George.” Dr. Watkins breathes.  “George Washington.” A sob breaks past Gilberts lips and tears prick his eyes.  Gilbert’s not a crier, but this man before him, this general was the reason he came to American in 1777. The namesake for a son he never got to watch grow up, and the reason he died.  He doesn’t regret anything he did for the General.

“Your Excellency,” George stands and cross to Gilbert giving his former liege a hug.  Gilbert can’t stop the tears or sobs.

“Shh, it’s okay Lafayette.” The use of his _first_ name makes him shudder.  No one has called him that for years.

“Mon cher,” He can feel tears on his cheek from Dr.- George.

“Shh, what did they do to you son?” Gilbert steadies his breathing.

“They… hung us.  They took Mulligan first with the rest of the Culper Ring.  And then they hung Alexandre, Laurens and I.” He presses his face to George’s shoulder. “Death is a memory I’d love to forget.” He whispers.  George nods burying his face in Gilbert’s hair.  It’s different.  Coarse and fluffy. 

“It’s okay, death is only a memory now.  No need to worry about it.” George whispers.  Gilbert extracts himself from his former General. 

“Sir,” He pushes his sleeves up his arms again, trying to distract himself. “Have you seen our dear Laurens, or Hamilton?  What about Mulligan?” George shushes him, running the pads of his fingers over Gilbert’s shoulders.

“Don’t worry about that now. I wasn’t sure you were back yet even.  I promise we will look for them.” He says softly.  Gilbert nods and George chuckles handing him a tissue. 

“Don’t cry.  The time for tears is past.” Gilbert sucks in a breath and nods as he blots his face.

“Oui, mon cher.”

\---

Johnathon Lara loved school. He loved learning.  And that’s why he was going to school for teaching.  He didn’t mind sitting through his last class for Mr. Watkins, he understood everything.  He just hated the person next to him who wouldn’t stop chewing their gum so obsessively loud.  He rolls his eyes and shuffles his chair farther away. He has ten minutes left before finals weeks starts and he has finished his first year of college. 

“Johnathon.  Can you answer my question?” John looks up from his notes he was typing.

“Sorry sir, can you repeat it?” Mr. Watkins smirks.  He’s known around campus as the chill professor, and for the past week he’s been in a noticeably better mood than normal.

“Yes I can.  Now.  Can you explain to me the most recent reincarnation theory we’ve discussed?”

John quickly clicks to the notes he took the night before.

“Most recently, Dr. Damion from England claims reincarnation is the souls’ way of redefining itself.  He states all souls get a second chance, before the new souls filter in. Although with his theory he needs to find a way to explain why there hasn’t been a reincarnation of Jesus Christ, Marie-Antoinette or Caleb Brewster.” John states.  Dr. Watkins nods as he writes the names on the board. 

“Correct.  Now Mr. Lara, can you tell me which theory explains away this phenomena?”

“Destructionism. Or the Trauma theory. If a soul has suffered an oddly traumatic death than it will hinder said souls reappearance.  It’s almost a type of self-preservation method.” He comments. Dr. Watkins nods and scribbles the theory on the board.

“Alright.  Remember the final for this class is an exploration of the theories and explaining which one applies to you.  No one here is blank so don’t try and get out of this paper.  I’ll see you all on Wednesday at noon to hand your papers in. Have a good weekend.” John closes his computer and slips it into his backpack, and reaches for his phone. He has one message from his father saying he’ll be up this weekend to help move most of his materials home.  He’s about to text his father back when Dr. Watkins calls him over.

“Johnathon, can I talk to you?” He asks.  John pauses his typing and clicks down his messages, pocketing his phone.

“Of course sir.” He drops his bag to the floor and leans on the desk behind him waiting for the Dr. to continue.

“Johnathon you’ve had your revelation correct?” John cocks an eyebrow but nods.

“Yes sir.”

“I know this is a rather odd question but do you remember who you were?” John laughs and meets eyes with the professor.

“Well yes.  Is there a problem sir?”

“Who were you? I’m conducting research for the university to try and discern which generation is starting to enter university.” John licks his lips.

“I was John Laurens, abolitionist and aide-to-camp of General George Washington during the Rebellion.” He ducks his head.  He’s use to backlash, people asking why he was that stupid to run off with the rebels. He doesn’t have an answer.

“Mon cher, is it a bad time?” A tall black man enters the room cautiously with voluminous hair, held back in a poufy bun. “Oh, je suis désolé. I’ll be-“

“No you’re fine Gilbert, come in.” John averts his gaze from Dr. Watkins to the Gilbert figure. “Have you met Johnathon yet?” Gilbert raises an eyebrow as he settles at Dr. Watkins’ side.

“Gilbert Marsielle.  It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He says holding a hand out.  John nods and shakes the hand, familiarity leaking from every point of contact.

“I wouldn’t happen to know you would I?” John asks, a teasing tone slipping through.

“Did you know a Marquis de Lafayette?” He asks slowly.  John’s jaw drops to the floor.  Washington smiles knowingly.  He didn’t plan this, but he’s happy it happened.

“Lafayette?” John asks softly.  Gilbert chuckles waving his hand carelessly.

“Mon ami, it would be more helpful if I knew your name as well.”

“John. John Laurens.” Gilbert’s face pales as much as it can with his dark complexion.

“Dearest Laurens.  My Laurens.” He whispers. John’s breathing stutters in surprise.  Lafayette. His and Alexander’s Lafayette.

“Laf.  Oh my God,” he grabs the taller man and the two hold tightly.

“I’m so sorry.” John whispers making Gilbert chuckle.

“Don’t be mon cher.  I wasn’t going to leave you and Alexandre to suffer the gallows alone. I’m glad I went out with you two by my side.” He holds John tighter, unable to believe he’s met his closest friend. 

“I can still be sorry.  You had a wife and what three children.”

“As did you.  Don’t worry about that now, we can catch up later.” He says pressing a kiss to John’s forehead. John squirms and Gilbert chuckles. “Have you met our dear General?” He asks motioning to Dr. Watkins.  John looks to the professor taking a wild guess.

“Lee?” Dr. Watkins laughs and Gilbert’s nose scrunches in disgust while he mumbles something in French.

“George Washington. It’s good to see you again son.” Washington says and John laughs in glee.

“Thank God, ‘cause I’m not sorry for shooting Lee.” He quips.  Washington laughs and squeezes John’s shoulder. A secretary pops her head in and clears her throat.

“Dr. Watkins.  You have a meeting in five minutes.”

“Thank you Felicity. I’ll be there in a moment.” He states.  Once the door is shut Washington clears his throat. John beats him to the next sentence.

“Alexander?  Hercules?  Have you heard anything of them?” He asks quickly.  Gilbert’s face falls. “Laf- Gil come on please tell me you’ve heard something about them.  Even Thomas Jefferson would suffice.”

Washington touches John’s shoulder again.

“Son.  Breathe.  Thomas is a student as well here, a sophomore.  As for Alexander and Hercules… I can’t be certain but I think our Alex has enrolled here for next year in law. I’m not positive so don’t credit me on this.  Now I have to leave, but if you need anything email me about setting up a meeting. I’ll get you in immediately.” He says while digging in his pockets. Pulling his wallet out he hands Gilbert ten pounds. “Go get something to drink on me.” He presses a kiss to Gilbert’s cheek before leaving the room. 

Gilbert blushes but speaks next.

“I’ve missed him more than life.” It’s quiet, John almost doesn’t catch it. “Come mon cher.  George showed me a place downtown with the most amazing authentic French food. We can get aprétif.” John grabs his bag and shoulders it as he follows his friend’s long legs out of the building and down the street.

\---

Hercules Morrison hates his name. Fuck Disney. He can’t believe his mother named that, but she said she had a feeling deep in her heart that he was a Hercules.   

Thanks to her he can’t leave the house without someone singing _I can Go the Distance._

He tells people his name is Morrison and if anyone questions he shrugs and says it’s a family name. A family name, from a family that is genetically related to the slave he once owned. 

Cato. He’s now blood to Cato.  When he first had his revelation he thought about it frequently.  He finally admitted to his mother the reason for his sleepless nights.  She enrolled him in therapy where he was diagnosed with Desiderium; A mental condition where an old soul has deep conflictions regarding actions from a past life.

It was common, almost everyone knew someone who struggled to come to terms with their actions.  Hercules never did.  He owned a person.  As property.  And said person is blood to him. 

He learned through a history course that Cato took his body from the gallows and cried over him for hours. He wishes he could find him and apologize.  No one should have to handle their friends body after death. 

He was plagued often by these thoughts.  Almost every day, he had something flit through his brain telling him he was and is an awful person.  He distracts himself with sports at first.  He was top wrestler in Ohio for two years.

But it didn’t help. So he tried the arts. He excelled at music, could play almost any instrument he touched, and theater was exhilarating. 

They only worked for another two years.  So Hercules devoted himself to crafts. He learned how to create things out of wood, how to properly fashion a suit, and how to build simple circuits. 

Come senior year of High School and Hercules didn’t know what he wanted to do. He had all these talents, with nothing in common.  He vividly remembers his school consoler shaking her head and clicking her tongue.

_You could have perfected the arts and gone to a great school, focused on sports and gotten a scholarship.  But laboring skills? Hercules you had a chance._

He didn’t talk to the consoler again.  His mother helped him fill out college applications for schools all over the East coast, while his father helped set up commissions for Hercules to earn money.  Hercules ended up second in his class, only to Theodosia Perkins. They weren’t particularly close, but they shared a bond over the destruction of rebels and their families.  She was briefly married to Aaron Burr, a friend of his from before.

She was killed three days after Hercules was hung.  Her husband, Aaron, was shot and strung up in front of their daughter, for “raping” a general’s wife.  She never loved her first husband, and loved Aaron with all her soul. She had to watch them strip him, whip him and shoot him.  They left him on the edge of death before they stripped and shot her as well.  It’s one of the more shocking stories from the days after the war…

That fall he was accepted to King’s College, his previous alma matter, in General Studies, but quickly became an art major, focusing in Theater design and Acting.  His parents didn’t care too much as long as he finished in four years and was able to pay off his debt.  He agreed to as much.

Theo enrolled at King’s College as well, a musical theater major. Their schedules overlapped on most cases, but Hercules was thankful for that.  He was constantly surrounded by wealthy people, who could afford to drop a boat load of money on an education and still do nothing.  Most of these people had been influential in the past.  He had class with Benedict Andrews, previously Arnold, and John Allen, previously Andre.  He knew them, had been decently close with Benedict before he defected to the British, but no one remembers that.  All they know is Benedict was smart, charming, and the reason the British won the war.

Hercules automatically hates him.

There’s little he can do about it though, except keep his mouth shut and smile and nod at their comments about the Rebels. It’s hard, to let them spew slander about his friends, comrades, his General. But he does.  He can’t tell them to stop, or he will be in trouble.

Every generation has their winners and losers, and the losers are watched in their second coming.  They didn’t watch Brutus, and see where that got them. A genocide and war later people watch.  It’s only a new thing, but people take it seriously.

The only class he can speak freely in is Fundamentals of Acting.  People don’t take anything he says seriously there, but they can’t.  It’s the script, he can’t get in trouble for something Shakespeare wrote.  There’s rumors he’s came back as well, as a young Latino man named Lin.  No one can be positive until he gets it verified.  Sometimes people want to be certified as the person they were before; its useful in travel, publicity.

Everything is easier when you’re famous. 

But being mundane is easy too.  He doesn’t have to worry about being recognized constantly, and he can focus on himself for once. He’s allowed to be blissfully ignorant on any topic he chooses. Like why people are obsessed with this new raspberry milkshake at Starbucks. He buys coffee instead, one cream five sugars.  It’s less expensive than the frappe mocha berry shit.  He turns to leave, keeps his head down, and focuses on the script in his hands. He mouths the words to himself and takes a sip of coffee.  He looks up just in time to not run into the tall black man in front of him.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.  The boy looks him over and nods.

“It’s cool.  I’m Cato.” Hercules steps back.

“Cato?” The boy sighs.

“Yes, like The Hunger Games. God I hate that movie.” He mumbles.

“I was thinking more like Mulligan’s slave.” Hercules says softly.  The boy nibbles on a hoodie string anxiously. 

“Yeah that too.” He pulls the string from his mouth with a pop. “I’ll be back guys. Iced mocha soy milk.” He says handing his friend 5 dollars.  He then grabs Hercules and drags him to the back corner of the coffee shop.  His face drains of color the farther from sight they get.

“Hold on dude-“

“How do you know his name?” He asks fiercely.  Cato’s breathing picks up and his hands shake.  “How do you know his name!” He demands again.  His eyes well up with tears, and he clenches his hands into fists.

“I was him.” Hercules says and reaches for Cato, trying to sooth the man. “Were you his slave?” he asks softly.  Hercules already knows the answer.

“Yeah. I pulled your dead body from the fucking gallows. Told your wife and children daddy’s not coming home.” He whispers.  He chews on his lip before releasing it with an exasperated breath. “Please don’t be shitting me.” He says.  Hercules smiles kindly at him touching his shoulder.

“I would never lie to you Cato.”

Cato sucks a breath and closes his eyes to steady himself. “Sir-“

“Don’t.  Please don’t remind me of what I did. I’m so sorry.” Hercules says twisting his fingers together.  He swallows tightly and Cato smiles a closed lip smile. 

“Alright… Herc.” Hercules laughs loudly. 

“Now that’s a new one!” He says with a smile. Cato laughs as well and claps him on the shoulder. 

“I have to go, but would you want to get lunch at one point.  Catch up? It’s nice to see a familiar face.” He asks making Hercules smile.

“Yeah.  Here’s my number.” He says as he scribbles it onto the corner of his script.  He tears the chunk off and hands it to Cato. 

“Awesome. I’ll see you around.” Cato says quickly typing it into his phone. Hercules watches him rejoin his friends, waving off their questions.  He’s so much more confident and outgoing.  He makes sure to remember that. 

He didn’t break Cato he gave him the best life he could in the circumstances he was given. And Cato is still Cato.

\---

Rich, handsome, Ambassador’s son. Thomas Jenkins had everything he could ever want. He was the bane of almost everyone’s existence, his smart mouth and arrogant views were enough to drive people insane. 

And he didn’t care.  He was Thomas Jenkins he had no reason to be bothered by the opinions of the lower class.

That was until he hit his freshman year of college.  Until then Thomas thought he was a blank, and he was fine with that.  He didn’t need to be troubled with Desiderium like the old souls were. 

He was wrong.  He knew when he walked into his Rebellion studies class he was screwed. The names on the board were of prominent traitors.

Hamilton, Washington, Adams, Marquis de La Fayette, Madison.

Jefferson.

The name sticks out like a sore thumb. He sits in the back, pulling his hair back into a bun as his computer starts up. A snot nosed, over achieving, high school student sits next to him rubbing his nose with his sleeve every few seconds. It’s enough to drive Thomas insane.

The professor struts in, head high and dressed to the nines.  Gucci top, Burberry jacket, and Armani shoes.  He reeks of old money, and arrogance.

Thomas loads a word document and nibbles on the end of a pen, watching the professor.  He drops his overcoat on the back of a chair and slams his briefcase on his desk.  The students flinch and the ones in the front row exchange confused looks. One pulls out their schedule to see if they’re in the right class.

“I am Dr. Anderson, and will be teaching this course. I’ve emailed the syllabus at noon, and I trust you are able bodied creatures who can read.  Any questions, contact me outside of class.” He says scratching his name above the list of traitors. The tail of his _n_ dips and cuts into _Madison._ He gets defensive, although he knows no one of the name _Madison_.

“Now. What do you know about the Rebellion?” He shoots off.  Thomas stops fidgeting with his pen and shoves it into his bun ready to type.

“The rebels were ignorant. King George III had promised them forgiveness if they paid back the tea, but they went and starting fighting in Lexington and Concord. Thomas Jefferson wrote the Rebellion Essay in 1776 before he was murdered in France alongside John Adams and Benjamin Franklin.”

“And how were they murdered?” The professor asks drawing out his words as he writes the names on the board.  Thomas stops his typing for a moment and watches.  He’s curious.  They didn’t cover this in his classes. 

“Adams, Franklin and Jefferson were drug to England and had their right hands severed.  They died three weeks later of infection.”  Thomas leans back in his seat, brows furrowed in concentration. His hand throbs, and he rubs his thumb over the junction of wrist and hand. The professor continues to rant for the next 30 minutes.

Class lets out and Thomas has never felt sicker in his entire life. His wrist feels like it’s been squeezed for the last hour, and his stomach has been queasy since class started. He speed walks from the building and back to his dorm.  His stomach is queasy and he trips over his feet as he makes his way back to his room.  Jefferson, slave owner, loved his slave, lost his hand, wrote the Rebellion Essay- no. The Declaration of Independence. He wanted to succeed form England as much as Hamilton and Washington. He keys into his building and throws the door open, jogging to his room.  He feels sick.

He pushes his door open and drops his back pack as he starts to pace.  He was a rebel, but he didn’t deserve death.  He just did what he thought was right. He would do it again?

His stomach twists as he thinks about it and he leans his head between his knees to calm himself.  He’s dizzy and hot. He strips his clothes and lays back on his bed. He closes his eyes praying for sleep.  He doesn’t know what’s going on.  He keeps thinking of a pretty girl, holding a baby.  His baby. He closes his eyes.

_“Run!  Sally, darling please run!”  He pleads pressing a long kiss to her forehead. She holds the baby to her chest, trying to shush it’s cries._

_“Jefferson!” Adams shouts from the adjacent room grabbing his musket._

_“I’ll be there soon!” he snaps breathing heavy. “John go with Sally, she’ll keep you safe.” He says ushering his friends child towards his mistress.  She places a hand on the child’s shoulder ushering him towards the back door._

_“Thomas,”_

_“Go Sally.  Find the La Fayette’s, Adrienne will take care of you.” He kisses her mouth one last time. “Now go love.”_

He gasps roughly, his fingers graze his lips. Sally.  His Sally, and his baby.  He’s a father, and not a blank.  God he was Thomas Jefferson. And he died without watching his daughter grow up.  God did she survive? Or was her life ripped from her too early?

He presses his fingers into his eyes till blue lightning flashes.

He sucks a breath in and groans. Okay. So drop the class and try and get in a different one.  He didn’t apply to King’s College only to get kicked out because a class offends him.  He grabs his phone and searches for the next available, but still relevant class.

Dr. Watkins.  Revelation Theory.

He sends a request.

 


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You meet Georges, Philip, Adrienne, Sally, and Elizabeth. Much fun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God this is going to be an awesome story. If you've enjoyed please comment (I thrive off validation) and I also always want to know how my work is being received.  
> Thank you so much for everything guys.  
> EDIT 10.16: I realized that Elizabeth being in California was unrealistic for this time period. I'm fixing that along with minor discrepancies.

Philip Harrison doesn’t care too much for school.  He hates being viewed as a blank because he was too young to remember anything significant from his past life. He was just a baby, it’s not his fault he can’t remember more than his mother holding him, and then she’s gone. He never met his father, never knew anything other than a pretty woman, and then nothing. 

He keeps his head down as he walks from his last exam and out the door. He’s been a victim of bullying for years. 

He’s just a  _ blank _ , he’s just going to waste this life.  And by the time his next life comes around it won’t matter.  He can’t convince them otherwise.

He’s suddenly shoved to side, and lands on his shoulder.  He can feel the bruise forming.

“Hey blank.” The voice sneers, using the word like a curse.  Philip keeps his head down, hair covering his face.

“What do you want?” He grumbles reaching to grab his backpack. The figure crushes Philip’s fingers on the gritty sidewalk.  Philip grunts trying to wiggle his hand away but the person presses harder.

“What you going to do blank.”

“Fuck off dude.” Philip snaps finally pulling his hand free. The person, Philip thinks his name is Calvin, sneers and cocks an eyebrow arrogantly.

“Or what?” Philip narrows his eyes as he grabs his backpack and slides it back on. 

Philip continues to glare but says nothing.  He’s came home with his fair share of black eyes, and he doesn’t want to explain another one.  

“That’s what I thought.” Philip ducks out of Calvin’s reach, keeping his head down. 

“What’s going on!” Philip winces. He doesn’t want to fight, God he’d do anything to not fight. He glances over his shoulder spotting a senior boy everyone knows.  Georges Marsielle. 

“What do you want Georges?” Calvin complains loudly, trying to make a scene. 

“Leave him alone.” Georges says. He’s known as being flamboyant and a bit of a social justice warrior. It’s not surprising he showed up here. 

“What are you going to do about it? Gay me to death?” Georges sighs, cracking his knuckles.

“You’d think the straights would learn.” He remarks before hitting Calvin in the nose. A sharp crack is followed by a spurt of blood.  Calvin lands on his back with a thud and rolls to his side. 

“You fucking fag!” he screams pressing the collar of his shirt to his face.  It’s quickly darkened by his own blood. 

“Oh fuck off.” Georges comments striding towards Philip.  “You okay?” He asks pushing the other boy’s hair behind his ear. 

Philip swallows and wets his lips. “Yeah… thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”

Georges shrugs and leads him away from the bleeding howling boy. “I felt like I should mon ami.” Philip smiles at his shoes, noting the hole forming at the seam. “Is that normal?” He asks nudging Philip's shoulder. 

He shrugs but answers anyways. “A bit. They believe I’m a blank.” He keeps his focus on the ground. 

“A blanc? That’s unlikely.” He says and smiles at Philip. The younger looks up and actually studies Georges. He’s not quite six feet, but he holds himself like he’s a hundred feet tall, confidence oozing from him. His hair is smooth and short, with light caramel skin.  His eyes are dark blue, the only true evidence of his French heritage. He’s absolutely beautiful. “Mon ami are you okay?” He asks tilting his head in question. 

“Yeah… sorry.” He blushes and Georges chuckles pulling him close, an arm around his shoulders. 

“Don’t apologize mon ami. It’s quite alright.” he states nonchalantly. He glances to Philip with a smirk. “You said you weren’t a blank.  Who were you?” He asks and Philip shrugs. 

“I actually don’t know specifically.  My mother was killed, and I didn’t know my father. I don’t remember much, I was maybe one and a half.” He says and fiddles with his hands.  Georges taps his wrist with two fingers. 

“Don’t fidget, you have nothing to be embarrassed of.” He states. Philip stalls his hands and tucks them into his sleeves. A beat of silence passes before Georges speaks. “My father was Gilbert du Mortier, Marquis de La Fayette.  I met him once, and my mother was jailed by Britain.  She died in jail leaving me to raise Virginie and Anastasie.  They were killed in the  Révolution française… and so was I.” He swallows tightly, face blank and staring ahead. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be.” Georges interjects. “Being with my sisters, I will always cherish that…” he breathes out and squeezes Philips shoulder. “Let’s be happy.  I don’t want to ruin this good mood. What are you doing tonight?” He asks suddenly. Philip shrugs, hands fidgeting with his sleeves. 

“I think my mom is renting a movie, but I’m not sure.  I’ll probably just sleep.” 

“Come home with me.  Ma  sœur is home for the weekend, we are watching shitty movies and eating pizza.” Georges says.  Philip is silent for a moment before he agrees. His mom won’t expect him home anyways. 

“Okay sure,” Georges smiles brightly, and tugs him down the street and towards the neighborhood where anyone of money lives. The houses are tall and white, Greek style columns decorate each entrance.  Georges smiles kindly as he pushes the door open. 

“Mère, I’m home and with un ami!” His accent rings in the empty hall.  His eyes narrow in thought, but he drops his backpack and kicks his shoes off before strutting into the living room. “Are you coming?” He asks.  Philip swallows and nods dropping his backpack next to Georges.  What was he thinking following a kid he barely knows home just because they asked? And a rich kid? He feels out of place with the high ceilings and real wood flooring.  He walks quietly, wondering how much the trinkets around the parlor costs.  He rounds the corner, head down, to see Georges cursing at the microwave, a hotpocket dropped haphazardly on a paper plate, fanning his mouth with his hand. 

That was the start of their inseparable friendship. Georges went to college that year at Indiana State, only fifteen minutes away from Philip, and Philip learned how to fight from Georges.  He picks up kickboxing and uses it as an out for his anxiety.  He excelles at it and earns three scholarships to Ivy League Schools. He chooses Princeton in the fall of his senior year. 

On the rare occasion Georges isn’t overwhelmed with school he invites Philip to spend a weekend with him; most of the time is spent in bed watching reruns of Cops and eating too much Taco Bell. 

“Phil,” Georges starts, tugging his long braids into a bun. Philip glances over at his friend. “So have you ever done research concerning your revelation?” He asks.  Philip snorts, grabbing the cinnabon delights from Georges hands. 

“No.  I’m okay with not knowing-”

“I think I know who you were, well are.” Philip sets the treats on the bedside table. 

“What do you mean?” He asks slowly.  Georges twists a ring, the La Fayette crest, around his knuckles. 

“I know you are fine with not knowing but I had a class on revelation theory and they got off topic when my dad was brought up.  They mentioned Alexander Hamilton, and I don’t know but something lit up in my brain.” 

“About Hamilton?  I doubt it.  He didn’t have a child.” Philip says waving his hand in the air. 

“Come here.” Georges says opening his laptop to a photocopy of a letter.

“What is this?” He asks squinting to read the small print. 

“Just read it.” He presses, handing Philip his glasses. 

_ My dearest child, _

_ You never met me due to unforeseen circumstances.  I wish only the best for you and your mother.   _

_ There’s not enough time for me to express how proud I will be of you, regardless of your occupation and whom you choose to take to bed. I pray you live long enough for your mother to tell you stories of me. I will forever be proud of you.  _

_ Aidue son _

_ Alexander Hamilton _

Philip sits back and raises an eyebrow. 

“Okay?” 

“Keep reading,” Georges says scrolling half a page down.  Philip sighs but does so anyways.  

_ These words were the last thing Alexander Hamilton wrote.  Unknown to him, his wife and son, Philip Alexander Hamilton, were killed a year after he himself perished. This is the only remaining letter that addresses his son’s existence.  _

Philip leans away from the screen worrying his lip. 

“What are you saying? You think my dad is Alexander Hamilton?” 

“Exactly.  This is the only information that suffices what you’ve told me.  Our parents were friends…” Georges words float in the air for a moment before he sighs. “I wish I could see them again.” 

Philip leans into Georges side. 

“Don’t worry.  Doesn’t reincarnation happen in waves? That would mean they are back too somewhere. I bet they’re best friends still.” 

“If they can find each other.” Georges mumbles. “Je suis désolé Philippe, I don’t mean to worry you with the troubles of my heart.” Philip chuckles at Georges french. 

“Don’t ever stop.  I like listening to you talk.” He says softly.  Georges smiles and slowly presses a kiss to Philip’s forehead.  He smiles and presses his face into Georges’ shirtless torso, letting his lips linger for half a moment too long on his skin. Georges giggles and rubs circles into Philips back. 

“Do you think they'd be okay with us?” He asks making Philip snort. 

“What do you mean?”

“Please Phil. Don't act like you don't know I'm in love with you.” Georges remarks lightly. Philip blushes. 

“Please, you don't love me.” He responds. His voice is tight despite his attempts to keep it light. 

“Well I do.” Georges whispers against Phillips curly hair. 

“Don't.” Philip says voice weak. “Don't say you love me.” 

“Aren't you bisexual? If not I'll back off immediately. I just thought…”

“I am.” Philip responds rubbing his face. “I just don't know what to do with you.  I don't want to ruin our friendship.”

Georges snorts loudly before laughing heartily with his entire body. “If anything I think we’d be better friends.” He remarks with a smirk at his shorter friend. 

Philip shrugs but doesn't move from Georges chest. He won't admit it but he's wanted more from Georges than he's willing to ask of him. Georges is smart and he's probably caught onto Philip’s not so subtle hints but this is the first time he's addressed it. 

“Philippe, chéri. Can I kiss you?” He asks softly. Philip chews his lip before nodding. Georges smirks as he pulls Philip’s face towards his. 

The kiss is soft but bright. Georges tastes like sunshine and smells like fall. 

They pull apart and Philip looks absolutely smitten, like a cat who's gotten the cream. 

“What are you smirking about mon cher?” Georges asks running his thumb across Philip’s lower lip. 

“I've wanted to do that for years.” 

Georges laughs and pulls Philip towards him again, molding lips together with a squeal from Philip. 

\---

“James, I’m sorry but you’ve been diagnosed with Leukemia.” He was twelve when the doctor told him this.  He was old enough to understand he was sick, very sick.  He didn’t understand the extent though. 

Within 2 years he was in the hospital full time for treatment. He was weak, most days he slept.  On the days he didn’t sleep, he read anything he could.  It distracted him from the aches that settled into his bones, and the tug on his wrist where the IV sat. 

He wasn’t able to focus for long, because the next week he was pulled into surgery.  James Michelson was going to die. 

At least he thought he would. 

He came out of surgery without a leg.  The cancer had taken over the bone and the doctors had to amputate.  James cried for days; he didn’t want to be the child who lost their leg because cancer took over. 

He was already bald, sickly, and without a leg. He was one of those children.  A statistic. 

He wanted nothing to do with this world.  

A few days before he was released from the hospital James was placed on antidepressants and was given a prosthetic leg.  

It took three months and constant physical therapy to get him to walk without assistance. It took another three to get him to a reasonable level of independence. 

He was thankful for the independence.  He had a school field trip to D.C. coming soon. This was the big trip of middle school, the one chance the students had at an illusion of freedom. 

The bus ride from Pittsburgh to D.C. wasn't long in comparison to other trips James had taken in the past year. He was excited with the possibilities of traveling. When he was trapped in the hospital before his operation he read and watched hundreds of documentaries on the Rebellion. He’s probably the most versed 9th grader in the bus.  

The class pulls into the parking lot beside the Smithsonian of American History, three hours before it closes.  The class is groggy and girls drag their friends to Starbucks thinking they’re adults, and boys pull on snapbacks grumbling about how annoying this trip is. 

James just shifts his body to the aisle, his leg sore and numb after hours of sitting. A chaperone smiles at him as she waits. 

“Everything good James?” The words bring back a familiar conversation he had with a friend.  A kind voice rubbing his back, coughing and wet eyes. 

He shakes the hallucination off before speaking.

“Yeah I’m fine.  How long till we enter the museum?” He asks feeling for his phone and sunglasses.  He finds the later tucked up on his head in the short tufts of curly hair.. His hair finally started to grow back after the years of chemo, and James is thankful for that.

“Fifteen minutes.  We want to let everyone have a chance to stretch.” She says waiting for James to sway his body down the charter bus steps. He walks slowly to his group.  A few send nasty looks at him, frustrated that they are stuck with James.  The amputee and sickly child. 

They stand in an awkward group, everyone focusing on their phones until the class is lead to the entrance. The class is set free once inside, and James doesn’t hesitate to run off on his own.  No one would want to wait for him anyways. 

He pulls his phone out and checks the list he has.  Rebellion Essay, Washington’s uniform, Benedict and Andre’s correspondences are at the top of the list.  He starts his walk towards the back of the building stopping along the way to examine the artifacts. The closer he gets to the Rebellion Essay the more anxious he gets. 

The artifacts are enticing, pulling him in closer each time he crosses something from the rebellion.  The clothing practically begs James to cross the red rope and pull them on.  He shakes the feeling from him for the third time since they’ve entered the institute. What is this feeling? 

He sits on a bench outside of the Rebellion documents, rubbing his thigh.  He’s about to do web search for why he’s feeling like this, but the clock stops him.

He has fifteen minutes left.  He must have been completely entranced with the museum, and lost track of time.  He stands slowly, rubbing his knuckles over his thigh.  He moves slowly to the last hall, fidgeting with his hands as he walks.  He pushes past the thick curtain that blocks UV rays and into a large circular room.  Large full bodied portraits hang on the wall and the lights are dim.  James glances around the room; Jefferson, Hamilton, Washington, Jay.  All major authors.  

James steps forward towards Washington, and moves towards Jefferson.  He never enjoyed John Jay’s writing. He reads a section of Washington’s letters and examines the artifacts in the glass case.  An ink well, a roll of parchment explaining military tactics, a sword. He moves around the circle, stopping only when he passes Jefferson. The words stand out to him.  He can hear a voice reading them and then arguing with him about them. 

_ “The slaves deserve emancipation! Do you expect me to leave my love enslaved?”  _

_ “Not all the colonies will agree to it Thomas you know this.  I understand you love your Sally desperately but now is not the time.”  _

He shakes his head to clear it of the voices, but continues to examine the case.  He hasn’t had a revelation yet, maybe he was Jefferson. He reads more of the words eyes stopping as they catch sight of a quill.  He knows that quill.  He knows the way it fits in his hand, his fingers automatically forming to the proper shape. The feather is short and stubby, thanks to Thomas’s habit of chewing on the end when he was stressed. He sees it, his friends long red hair pulled back into a ponytail, nibbling on the end of a quill writing and crossing out words. The scent of tobacco leaves mixes with ink, and burning embers. The sounds of summer and small black children running around yard filter to his ears.

He remembers it all. And he remembers death.  The feeling of despair and loneliness as he choked on his own blood from some damn infection he’d suffered since his early adulthood. 

He swallows tightly and turns to leave.  He needs to think.

\---

Sarah Jefferson is content with life.  She’s okay with making it paycheck to paycheck and playing in shitty bars for drunk men who shout at her.  She’s okay with it. 

She’s been okay with it since she moved out of her parents house.  They were lovers in the past life, and lovers now.  She was fine with it, but they didn’t understand why she still loved the man she did before.  

Thomas.  She misses her Thomas, but her parents adamantly state he was nothing more than a rapist who she should never seek out.  

She reminds them just as forcefully that without her relationship with Thomas, they wouldn’t be a family even if they are biracial.  It quiets them every time, but she never feels like she’s won.  

She opts out of the college track when she starts a youtube channel in the winter of her sophomore year of High School.  It takes off quickly, people say she’s beautiful even with her different colored skin and her voice is amazing.  

It takes another year for her to get an official diagnosis for skin condition, and she’s okay with that as well. Vitiligo. 

See Sarah Jefferson never let anything offset her.  She’s always been steady like the ocean.  She’s predictable and calm. When she first got hit on in the bar she responded calmly. When it happened again, she responded just as calm as before. 

The third time she broke the man’s nose. 

By the time she was allowed back to the bar she’d made her start in entertainment, and gathered a decent following. 

She was 18 then.  Now 20 years old and without a degree, Sarah floats from stage to stage singing covers and occasionally original pieces for fans. She’s more than okay compared to two years ago.  She hasn’t spoken to her parents since she moved out. She has an apartment with exposed brick, on purpose, and a cat named Daisy.

When the new year comes she misses a payment and she’s given thirty days to make it up, while her landlord also jacked her rates up. She puts an application out under her old name. 

Sarah Hemmings 20 years old, in search of roommate. Must like cats and must be willing to submit background check. 

It takes three days before she gets a reply from a foriegn exchange student named Adrienne. She’s absolutely gorgeous with long black braids and a pretty gold septum ring.  She’s bright, a professional ballerina, and a tall, nimble ray of sunshine. She tells Sarah how pretty she is constantly, how she needs to not hide her vitiligo under layers of makeup.  

_ The light spots across your nose are cute, like reverse freckles mon ami _ .  _ Very cute. _

It doesn’t take long for them to talk about their past lives. When they come clean on who they are Sarah cries and Adrienne holds her with slim arms calming her friend.

“Shh, ami it’s alright.” She whispers rocking Sarah back and forth. “It will all be alright.” She whispers.  

Sally sucks a breath in and rubs her face into Adrienne’s shoulder. “I’m sorry…” she pulls herself back, but doesn’t relinquish contact with the french woman. Adrienne smiles kindly and thumbs away tears as the two sit close on a second hand couch. 

“Don’t worry yourself over it chéri.” Sarah licks her lips and looks Adrienne in the eye.  Her’s are wet as well; when she blinks a fat tear rolls down her cheek. 

“Adrienne. Am I crazy for still wanting to find Thomas?  Even though people say he’s awful.” Adrienne smiles kindly and rubs away the tears on her cheeks. 

“Is it crazy I still want my Gilbert even though I’m aware he had many mistresses?” She asks and sighs. “I am crazy aren’t I?” Sarah laughs and so does Adrienne. 

“We both are.” Sarah teases and Adrienne giggles. 

“Movie night?” She asks pulling her phone out and looking for a takeout place. “How’s the chinese food on 21st?”

“If you order, order from 15th.  They’re better. What movie do you want to watch?” She asks ducking down to her movie cabinet. “I have Silver Linings Playbook, Les Miserables and The Hunger Games.” Adrienne glances up from the order she is scratching down on a legal pad. 

“Oh Les Miserables? Can we watch that!” She asks brightly. “Kung Pow or Lo Mein?” She adds as she studies the take out menu.

“Lo Mein. Egg rolls?” Sarah pulls the DVD from the shelf and opens the case.

“Of course. Give me three minutes. I’ll pay tonight if you pay next time.” She says standing and walking into the kitchenette. Sarah doesn’t pay attention, just smiles at the friendship. 

It’s been awhile since she’s had a good true friend, most of the people from her time didn’t know her or if they had heard of her, they hated her. 

She likes this friendship. 

Adrienne waltzes back into the living room and sits herself next to Sarah on the floor. 

“So mon ami.  Twenty minutes till the delivery.  Want to get this started?” 

\---

Elizabeth Liu loved Alabama. But it wasn't enough for her. She wanted to explore and love and see the world beyond her little circle of Montgomery. 

She wants to see the cruelty and beauty of the world. 

So when King’s College accepts her application and offers her an extra 30,000 four year scholarship she packs up and catches the first plane to the east coast. It’s scary.  Packing up and moving in three days because a school approved her application last minute.  But she was never one to back down from a challenge. 

She walks into her dorm head high and never looked back to Alabama.

Elizabeth loves learning, but not history.  She was more than aware who she was in her past life, and that she was a mother. But she didn’t want to hear for the hundredth time how and why her husband was killed.

Her dearest Alexander, the father of their little Philip, who died much too soon. They all did, but she won’t let herself focus on that.  She instead focuses on the cute boy beside her.  She’s not looking for a boyfriend, but she can appreciate an attractive human when she see’s one. His ink black hair and tan skin with a green flannel.  He’s absolutely stunning. He notices her and smirks.  She blushes but doesn’t look away.  

“Well you’re confident aren’t you?” He teases.  HIs voice is confident, a little nasally, but not annoying. 

“Only when I’m seated next to attractive men. Elizabeth Liu.” She says, holding eye contact.  So blue, like the ocean. 

“Alexander Hadley.” He replies, lips curling into a smile.  She’s about to say something else when the professor walks in. She turns to the front and fishes a folder from her bag, ready to file away the mounds of papers she’s sure to receive. The professor clears his throats before he speaks. 

“Hello I'm Dr Watkins and this is Early American History 1401. Please pass these back,” The professor hands Elizabeth and Alexander a stack of syllabuses, making eye contact with both of them before stepping away shaking his head. 

“Now.  I want to start this class differently than you are used to. Stapled to the back of each syllabus is a note card.  Rip it off and write the name and who you were your last life.  New souls write someone whom you look up to.  They have to be dead.” Some of the students hesitate, most notably Alexander and Elizabeth. “Don’t worry this is confidential. After that write something you want to have clarified or learn through this course.”  Elizabeth chews the end of her pen, and watches Alexander slowly scratch something out.  She looks away and focuses on her card.  Finally in her swoopy sweet script she writes out three things. 

_ Elizabeth Liu, Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton, What happened to Angelica Schuyler Church after the war.  _

Dr. Watkins collects the note cards and sets them on his desk, skimming a few.  Most people aren’t anyone notable, just normal everyday people, so it’s surprising when Dr. Watkins pauses on a card.  His eyes narrow but he sets the card to the side. 

“So for today we are starting with the beginning of America.” Class starts promptly and Elizabeth almost misses notes. She writes concisely but her notes aren’t very long.  She’s learned about this hundreds of times. Alexander is writing feverently, taking every word down in his scratchy handwriting, as if missing a word would be the end of his career. She refocuses on what Dr. Watkins is saying.  

She’s so focused she almost doesn’t notice Watkins call on her. 

“Ms. Liu.” She blushes. 

“Sorry sir.  Can you repeat the question?” She asks.  He chuckles. 

“Focused aren’t we.  Now.  What was the turning point where the colonies started to divide, rebel and tory?” She swallows.  She remembers this vividly, even if she was only a child. 

“It started when King George the III started to unfairly tax the colonies, for necessary objects like flour and tea and stamps and yet had no say in parliment. The colonies felt slighted and in 1773 the Boston Tea Party happened.” She speaks clearly. 

“Sounds like a rebel to me.” a student further down the row grumbles.  A black man with large hair glares. 

“Leave her alone, imbécile.” 

“Mr. Marseille that is not needed. Mr. Jones I suggest you remain quiet. The taxes were very over the top.  I assume Ms. Liu has a reason for her belief they were unfair as you seem to have a belief they were not.” Dr. Watkins rubs a hand over his chin.  “Let it stand now, that I will not tolerate any type of bullying.  The lives you lived before are important, and I feel some of you were important figures.  But that is not to be an influence in this class.  When you step foot into this classroom you are not a soldier, rebel, loyalist, inventor, anything.  You are a student.  If you have an issue with this then don’t come back to this class.” He sighs and glances at his watch. 

“You are all free to go.  Except Hadley, Marseille and Lui.” The three look between each other, Marseille’s eyes narrowing as he studies Hadley.  He looks away with a shake of his head and shoves his books into his bag. 

“Mon professeur,”

“It’s alright Gilbert.” He says.  Alex’s eyebrow raises in question, confusing Elizabeth. 

“Sir,” 

“It’s alright Elizabeth.  I actually wanted to talk to you darling.” 

“Don’t darling her.” Alexander quips.  

“Still so quick witted.” Dr. Watkins murmurs. 

“What?” Alex is entirely confused at the moment.  What the hell is Dr. Watkins talking about. 

“Alexander. Do you know who is all in this room?” Dr. Watkins strides to Alexander’s desk and leans forward.  Alex leans away and glances to Elizabeth and Marseilles. He shakes his head and runs a hand over his neck a nervous habit. 

“Sir I’m not sure what you want from me.” 

“Alexander.  Who are you? Or more precisely who were you?” Alexander tenses. He doesn’t want to admit who he was.  Nothing good ever comes when he admits who he was. He chews his cheek. 

“You first.” Dr. Watkins chuckles. 

“Son-”

“Don’t call me son.” Alexander stands, the action emphasizing his words.

“S'il vous plaît listen for three seconds mon ami.” Alexander stares at the tall dark man whose glaring at him so familiarly.  The quirk of his lips and stance, he knows it, God he knows the way they shifted their weight irritatedly. Alex scans their face and then takes a step back. 

“Marquis.  No it can’t be you…”

“Bonsoir mon cher.” Gilbert winks and Alex stops breathing. 

“Lafayette.” 

“Alexandre.” Elizabeth stumbles backwards. 

“Alexander.” She whispers. Alex looks at Elizabeth and raises an eyebrow. 

“Betsey?” Elizabeth grabs onto Alexander suddenly wrapping her arms around his middle. He smiles and hugs her tightly, not believing she’s here.

“Oh Alexander,” She cries. 

“My Betsey, god I’m so sorry.” he whispers against her hair.  “God I’m so sorry.” He squeezes her tightly and Dr. Watkins clears his throat. 

“Alexander.” Alex presses a kiss to Elizabeth’s forehead before pulling away. She blots her eyes with the edge of her sweater, her makeup somehow still impeccable. 

“Sorry… who are you?” 

“Oh mon cher, you don’t recognize his excellency?” Alex laughs loudly a true smile breaking out across his features.

“Of course!  It’s good to see you again your excellency.” Alex states animatedly and hugging the former general quickly. “What the odds we all end up here? Have you seen our Laurens or Mulligan? Please tell me John and Herc are here.” 

“Alexandre.” Gilbert chides before laughing. 

“Sorry. You know what I’m not sorry, I haven’t seen you for almost 200 years, come here.” He states holding his arms open.  Gilbert laughs and encircles his long lost friend before addressing his best friend’s wife. “Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton, it’s a pleasure to meet you.  I apologize for not making it to your wedding chéri.” Elizabeth laughs and blushes as Gilbert takes her hand and presses a kiss to her knuckles. 

“Hey now, you’ve got your own wife.  Have you found Adrienne?” Gilbert blushes and looks away pulling his lip into his mouth. 

“You see mon cher. I have not been able to locate her, but George here has been more than wonderful to me. By the way mon amour we should call monsieur Lara.” George chuckles slipping over the front row of desks to sit next to Gilbert. 

“Already done.  Should I call Thomas as well?” He asks pulling his phone out.  Alex watches the interaction before it clicks they’ve known each other more than a few days. He sucks on his tongue, another nervous habit Elizabeth picks up on almost immediately. 

“Alexander.” She whispers slipping her hand along his back. He leans towards the familiar touch, relishing in his past wife's presence.

“Lafa- Gilbert. How long have you known George?” He states slowly. 

“I came here last year for an interview.  George conducted it and we’ve been in contact ever since.” He adds a wink at the end that only intrigues Alex more. 

“Been in contact? Marquis are you trying-”

“Yes Alexander. We have pursued a relationship.” 

“But what about Mrs. Washington?” Elizabeth interjects.  She met George a handful of times in her past life but there was never any significant interactions. 

“Watkins, Betsey-”

“Only I can call her Betsey.” Alex quips.  George chuckles and Gilbert lightly smacks his hand against George’s chest. 

“Mon cher, don’t laugh at our Alexander.  He’s just found his wife.” He winks at Alex who just chuckles. 

“I don’t have a wife, Elizabeth.” George concludes with a kind smile. Gilbert smiles and touches George’s hand, tapping their fingers together. 

A knock sounds disrupting the casual mood.  Alex cocks an eyebrow watching George slip away from Gilbert. He strides to the door and opens it revealing a short boy of Latino origins and curly brown hair, cropped short. 

“Sorry sir I was getting coffee.  Here you go Gil. Oh… who is this?” He asks setting a frappe on the counter. 

“John…. This is Alexander.” John shakes his head in disbelief. 

“Good one sir.” 

“John…. John Laurens?” Alex barely speaks the words.  The room falls silent and John focuses intently on Alex. 

“Look I don’t know who you are but whatever you heard is wrong.”

“John please, listen to me.” He begs quietly. “It’s me Alexander.” He says reaching for him.  John shakes his head, dropping his bag to the floor. 

“Then tell me.  What did you tell me after we surrendered?” 

_ “Death.” Laurens flinches at the word but doesn’t look away. “Don’t worry I’ve heard it’s quick,” _

Alex turns and starts to pace. 

“Death.  I told you were going to die and that you shouldn’t worry because it would be quick…” He runs his hand over his neck, the phantom fingers grazing his skin again. His entire being shivers. 

“Hamilton,” he turns. John has tears on his cheeks wetting his pretty face. 

“Laurens!” He briskly walks to his old friend and envelops him in a hug, burying his face in his neck breathing deeply. He still smells like southern air, but now with a twinge of peppermint.

“Alexander, dear God I thought I’d never see you again, that you’d forgotten about me.” John whispers against his skin.  Alex laughs and holds him tighter. 

“I could never forget about you quierdo.” Alex whispers the words against his neck before pulling back and touching his friend’s cheek. 

“I’m sorry Alex, I didn’t mean for-” Alex cuts him off mid sentence. 

“Don’t worry about that. I’m back, you’re back, we have Gilbert and the general.  Oh, I forget did you ever meet my Betsey?” He asks motioning to her.  Elizabeth laughs and smiles at the two. 

“No we haven’t. It’s good to finally meet the man my husband was enamoured with.” She teases and Alex blushes. 

“Betsey.” She just smiles at him and John embraces her quickly and tightly.  

Watkins clears his throat, drawing the attention back to him. Alexander refocuses, his hand slipping to grab both John and Elizabeth. He can’t help he’s so touchy he’s just met four of the most influential people from his past life. John squeezes his wrist, slipping their fingers together. Elizabeth can’t help the flood of jealousy, but reminds herself this is a new life.  He doesn’t have to love her and she doesn’t have to love him. 

“I know you are all filled with emotions and want to take time to get to know each other again.  But please remember.  We lost the war.  We are not the heroes, and most people will not accept your reappearance as we have.  Be careful.” He warns grabbing his briefcase. 

“I’ll see you tonight non mon amour?” Gilbert asks and George laughs as he pockets his phone.  

“You’ll show up anyways, so yes. Is six too late?” 

“Perfect. I’ll see you then,” George smiles and presses a chaste kiss to Gilbert’s mouth.  George walks away and Gilbert licks his lips absolutely smitten. 

“Well then. Do you have an apartment mon ami?” he turns his attention to Alex.  He nods and grabs his bag. 

“Yeah, in Washington Heights.  My mom helped me find it.” 

“You’re in the heights!  So am I!” John smiles as they leave the classroom and step from the building. They walk down the street to the Heights talking animatedly about now and then, their new friends, new adventures and new majors.  Elizabeth reveals she doesn’t know where Peggy or Angelica are, or even if they are from the US. John says he’s from South Carolina still, but is hispanic now, along with Alex.  Dominican Republic and Spain.  

Elizabeth just watches listening as the two flow easily into Spanish, speaking like they’ve known each other for years, which they have.  She just sits in Alex’s small apartment watching them. She knows within minutes that she won’t have her Alexander like she did before but it’s okay.  She knows he will be loved deeply and fully regardless. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Tumblr Weehawken-dawngunsdrawn or if you want to message me contact me on twitter at NeverEnoughLou_  
> I'll try and be quick at my responses.  
> Also I'm looking for a Beta so if you would like to do that let me know. Must be willing to give me their gmail (I work out of google docs)


	3. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh! I'm so happy about how this is being recieved! I love each and everyone of you! I plan to have another update soon but honestly I can't stick to a schedule to save my life so no promises.  
> I love you guys so much and please comment!

It wasn't long before their group of four met Hercules. He was so oblivious to who was staring at him from across the coffee shop he almost snapped if it wasn't for Cato telling him to calm down. 

“Why the fuck won't they stop then? I don't know them.” Hercules grumbles wrapping his hand around his knitting needles. Cato shrugs and starts to sketch again. 

“Maybe the knitting needles?” He suggests casually. Hercules’ bottom lip juts out in a pout as he drops a stitch. Knitting may be an odd hobby but he enjoys it.  And Theodosia never complains when he gives her scarves, hats and gloves made from the finest yarn he can afford. 

“Well they won't be getting anything from me then. Is this long enough?” He asks holding the end of the scarf up. Cato glances up and shrugs. 

“Who's it for, Theodosia?” He asks sipping his coffee. 

“Yeah, she asked if I could make her a pair of gloves and a scarf.” He notices the group across the shop perks up when Cato says Theo’s name. He grumbles and sets his needles down on the table roughly. 

“What the actual fuck.”

“Herc.” Cato warns as his friend stands. He strides to the opposite table and stops at the end arms crossed. 

“Uh hi?” The tallest one says, his voice tilting up like a question. His dark brown eyes squint as he looks up at Herc. 

“Why the fuck are you four staring at me?” He demands. The shorter Hispanic boys exchange glances that show shock. “Well?” He presses. 

“You just… remind me of a friend, monsieur,” he stammers. Hercules, who has too much to do to worry about freshman and their weird fascinations, simply glares.

“Who? Come on if you're going to stare tell me why,” he states crossing and uncrossing his arms. 

“Monsieur,” 

“Were you Hercules Mulligan?” The girl speaks up. She's beautiful, much too pretty for this coffee shop. 

Hercules swallows tightly. “Perhaps. Why?” 

The two Latino men smile brightly and exchange a look. The one with curly hair grabs the other’s hand. 

“Marquis de La Fayette.” Hercules steps away from the table as the other men speak. 

“John Laurens.”

“Alexander-”

Alex doesn't get to finish his sentence, because Hercules pulls him into a very tight embrace. 

“God I'm sorry. I missed you.” Hercules whispers into Alex’s shoulder. It's a funny scene, a tall black man who looks like he could absolutely maim the Latino is holding him shaking and hunched over. 

Alex pulls back first and motions to the table. “It's good to see you again. Come sit with us, unless you're busy.” Hercules shakes his head and smiles. 

“No, not a problem. You remember Cato right?” he says slowly backing up to grab his bag and friend. Gilbert smiles and speaks first. 

“He got my letters to Adrienne and the children.” He speaks softly, his eyes unfocused as he thinks back on a different time.  Elizabeth squeezes his wrist and he shivers but still smiles. Hercules watches as he collects his needles and yarn, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

“What’s up?” Cato says, also packing his belongings away. 

“Those guys are actually old friends.” Cato smirks and Hercules rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah  _ I told you so _ .” He says wrapping his hand around his coffee cup, the heat comfortable. It's chilly in the shop, a marketing ploy for customers to buy more hot drinks.

Cato is almost completely silent as he walks with Herc across the shop. Until they sit down with the four. 

“Told you so.” He quips and sips his drink immediately after the words leave his mouth. Hercules blushes but doesn't speak. 

“Aww did you not know whom we were, mon ami?” Gilbert teases, a sly smile on his lips. 

“Four underclassmen were staring at me for twenty minutes. I was more concerned if they knew me from the play last year.  Besides no one looks the same, how am I supposed to recognize you as Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette?” 

Gilbert teasingly wiggles his eyebrows implying something else completely, but Elizabeth smacks his arm. “Don’t be mean,” she chides and smiles at Hercules. “What was the play?” she asks making him blush. 

“West Side Story. I was Tony.” John snickers, and Alex hits him on the back of his hand. 

“Don't laugh, Mr. Teacher. Art degrees are valid and important.”

“All genders are valid.” Hercules teases. 

“Are you not cis?” Gilbert asks kindly and honestly simply curious. 

“No, I am. You?” 

“Non-binary. But male pronouns.” Hercules nods approvingly, not like Gilbert needed approval to go gender searching; especially from a cis male.

“Well congrats.” 

“While we are in the mood for announcing. Alex and I made it official,” John chimes in with a smile.

“And yes, I talked to Betsey. We just don’t seem romantically fit for each other this time.” 

“As long as Alex is happy, that's what matters. You deserve a good life honey,” Elizabeth says, but her eyes are sad. She really did love him, but she knows Alex is right. They aren't right for each other this time, and Elizabeth will have a lovely boy out there for her.

“I knew it!” Gilbert teases again. 

“Please. I knew you were into George from day one 1777.” Alex retorts, curling his fingers with John’s. Gilbert scoffs but brushes his floofy hair from his face. 

“Mon cher, I’m offended. You and Laurens?  Cold in my professions, warm in my friendships, I wish, my Dear Laurens, it might be in my power, by action rather than words, to convince you that I love you.” The more words of the forgotten letter that Gilbert speaks, the redder Alex’s face becomes.  Even Elizabeth finds it humorous and laughs as the words slip off Gilbert’s tongue. 

“I forgot that even existed,” John deadpans. Alex groans and lays his head on the table with a satisfying thud, drawing attention from the rest of the customers. Cato chuckles and clicks his tongue. 

“Add some military uniforms and I'd say nothing has changed.” Cato smirks and Hercules sighs. He'd be lying if he didn't say he was slightly embarrassed by his friends, but he won't remember that in an hour. Hercules checks his phone and sighs when a reminder pops up. 

“Hey, I have to be at my apartment for the next hour. Our water line broke, but you guys are more than welcome to join us,” Hercules offers, and the four look between themselves. Elizabeth stands grabbing her cerulean peacoat. 

“You boys are more than welcome, but I have a meeting with my literacy class. Nice to meet you Hercules, and you as well Cato.” She shakes both their hands and presses her cheek to Alex’s briefly before walking from the cafe. Alex watches her leave and smiles fondly as she confidently strides across the street to the English building. 

“She’s…”

“I know.” He sighs and squeezes John’s hand before downing the rest of his coffee before grabbing his jacket. 

“I'm going to head out to the car and make room for ya’ll.” Hercules comments standing, swinging his bag over his shoulder.  Cato follows and the two duck heads and talk quietly but energetically.  The remaining three watch him, and Gilbert is the first to speak, resting his head in the palm of his propped arm. 

“I’ve missed him.” 

“Even if we didn’t see him a lot.” John adds.  Alex knocks shoulders with his own, a smile playing on his lips. 

“He was the best damn spy we had.” Alex states standing and gathering the trash on the table. His smile slips for a moment, and he balances the trash in one hand, rubbing his neck with his free hand. 

“You okay?” Gilbert asks pulling his jacket on and securing his hair back. 

“Yeah.  Just thinking.” He says and struts off tossing the trash away.  John collects Alex’s bag and worries his cheek. 

“Is he fine?” Gilbert asks quietly fussing with his bag. John shrugs and runs a hand through his hair.  It’s just long enough to tickle the back of his neck.

“I don’t know.  Weird things make him think of before.  Like really weird things.” 

“Desiderium?” 

“Maybe,”  Alex returns to the table takes his jacket from John graciously. They walk out of the coffee shop, to Hercules and Cato tossing bags of trash out.  Hercules blushes as they walk closer, the three bags of McDonald’s and two Taco Bell glaring proof of his eating habits.

“Sorry.  I live off campus, no dining plan and yeah,” Alex smiles brightly and almost bounces on his feet. 

“Where are you at?” 

“Upper East Side.  Cato and I live together.” He replies sliding into the driver’s seat and switching the ignition.  

“John and I are in the Heights!” 

“The latino block?” Alex sucks on his tongue.  He knows the reputation the Heights has; Latino gangs, conservatives. None of it’s true.  “I mean that in a good way.  Ya’ll are tight over there.  Apparently during the blackout this summer some of the store owners were giving out non perishables.” 

Alex smiles and John bumps knuckles. “Yeah. I didn't move into the heights till the end of August but Alex moved in mid July.” He slips into the backseat getting squished between Alex and Gilbert.  

“It’s great there.  It reminds me of home.” Alex comments a smile playing at the edge of his lips. 

“Caribbean again?” Hercules asks meeting his eyes in the rear view mirror. Alex fiddles with the end of his sleeve. 

“Florida. Miami.  My mom is from the Caribbean tho. I fricken’ missed her.”  He says distantly, remembering a time when he didn't have a mother. John rubs a sliver a skin poking out of the bottom of Alex’s sleeve. He leans into the touch and Gilbert smirks slinging his arm around the back of the seats. 

Hercules pulls his car onto the road and slips into traffic easily as Cato turns the radio up. The ending chords of one song die down and the opening of another fade in soft and sweet. Alex perks up as the words sound in the air. 

“Do you know this?” Hercules asks meeting eyes for a split second in the rearview mirror. 

“Yeah,” he breathes, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips his mind turning to a previous time. 

_ “And when our children tell our stories!” _

_ “They'll tell the story of tonight!” Glasses clink together and cheers are heard around the table as the aides to camp, spies and Washington celebrate their first victory.  _

“Alex,” John squeezes his boyfriend's fingers catching his attention. He smiles kindly and captures Gilbert’s fingers as well. 

“Remember after the first victory. We sang this while drinking too much whiskey.” He states dreamily. John laughs remembering the night. 

“And you insisted on wrestling both Marquis and I at the same time!” 

“George had to pull you two away from each other after 3 pints!” Hercules quips his lips turning up. 

“And I had to escort them back to their tent. Whose good idea was it to house these two together?” Cato adds already worn from their previous antics. 

“It was either that or I slept with Trumbull.” Alex states. “Remember. Bastard orphan. No one liked me.” Alex states offhandedly. 

“Oh shush mon cher. Our general loved you dearly, thought of you as a son.”  Gilbert replies. Alex rolls his eyes, but a smile teases at his lips. 

From there out the four of them remain friends, and joke about the war more often than not.  It’s a loose and lazy friendship, only helped along with marijuana when they all feel inclined so. It’s not like they’d get in trouble, Hercules’ landlord is their dealer.   

Between getting high every third weekend and studying for exams, they fall into an easy routine.  By the time Thanksgiving comes around, since apparently Britain can rule over them but will still let them claim a facade of separation, John cancels his lease and moves in with Alex.  Hercules starts to search for new apartment as well, and offers Gilbert to move in with him.  Gilbert accepts quickly after his  père discovers he found old friends and money is transferred overnight for him to place a down payment on a place in Hudson Heights. He’s still rich, but doesn’t talk about it.  Parents are ambassadors or something prominent. 

It takes until second semester for them to find Jefferson. John knew he was at the school as did Gilbert but they never saw him, as far as they knew. 

The spring semester started normal. Teachers going over syllabuses, students dropping after taking to friends or seeing the workload an elective requires. Alexander works to get another class with Dr. Watkins and this time John takes it with him. He had an opening in his schedule, why not. Gilbert had to dismiss himself from the class, he had too much to do for his business degree and getting a minor in Latin was taking too much time. 

So Alex and John go to class together, knuckles brushing as they laugh about stories from home. Elizabeth waves at them and Alex pauses to hug her tightly. 

“How was break darling?” He asks holding her at arm's length. She smiles and runs a hand over the ends of her hair. It's shorter than it was before break. 

“Good. My parents and I went to China to visit my Zǔfùmǔ.” Alex raises an eyebrow and Elizabeth laughs lightly. “Grandparents. Sorry you know how it is.” She says. Alex laughs brightly and nods. John bumps shoulders with Alex and pats Elizabeth’s shoulder. 

“Good to see you.” He says and takes up Alex’s hand loosely. “Class starts in 15 minutes and George wants us.” He says and smiles kindly at her. “Come by our apartment later. My mom sent up a lot of food and I'm gonna try carnitas for dinner.” 

Elizabeth smiles and nods. “Of course. I'll let you two go, I need to get to class.”

“Phonics with Bradley? Be ready she's tricky.” He states and she nods thinking about her classes. 

“Will do. Thanks John. I'll text you later when I'm on my way over.” She says and steps away tugging her jacket tighter around her. She's confident, still after everything she's been through. 

This life was different than the last. Instead of worrying over Alexander being caught and hung she's worried about him getting good grades. She's okay with the different struggles, because she has Alexander, and that’s really all she’s ever wanted. 

John laughs and squeezes Alex's shoulder. “Quit staring someone might think you love her.” Alex shrugs and stuffs his hands in his pockets as he follows John up the stairs to the classroom. 

“I do. But differently than I love you,” he says casually.  He pulls spare change from his jeans, counting it up before stopping in front of a vending machine. He orders a Starbucks bottled frappuccino quickly, John rolling his eyes at his boyfriend. Of course it’s day one and Alex already needs caffeine. Alex unscrews the bottle as they enter George’s classroom him scratching instructions on the chalkboard. 

“Hey Gwash.” Alex calls and George sighs setting the chalk down. 

“I prayed that would have died over break.” He mumbles and runs a hand over his cheek. 

“Missed you too.” Alex grumbles setting his bag on the student tables, John taking the seat next to him. 

“How was France?” John asks taking Alex’s drink and sipping it. 

“Even more beautiful than I remember. I'm surprised Gilbert agreed to let me travel with him..” His time in France has softened the pronunciation of Gilbert’s name; soft  _ G _ and silent  _ T. _ Just as it should be.  The hard  _ G _ sounds ugly on their tongue. 

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Alex states and smiles brightly when Gilbert steps into the room, head high, and a new sweater gracing his torso, and he looks more refreshed than he has all year.  

“Mes chers!  It’s good to see you!” He cries out and pulls the two boys into his arms quickly, pressing a kiss to their cheeks.  “Break was good non?” His accent is thicker and English slow.  

“Of course.  It’s good to see you again Gilbert.” Alex states and his friend smiles brightly. Students filter into the classroom, some anxious about the first day, some already given up for the semester, dressed in sweatpants and yawning. Alex snickers and slides across the desk to his seat.  John sighs and hugs Gilbert tightly.  

“Come by tonight, I’m making dinner. You’re more than welcome as well Geo- Dr. Watkins.” Gilbert chuckles and nods meeting eyes with George and winking, licking his lips before he walks out.  Alex snickers and John ducks his head, trying to avoid detection by his previous general. George catches their actions and narrows his eyes at the boys.  

He remembers the same thing happening years ago, when they had first started the war. The two laughing under their breath, sharing knowing glances, making jokes at the worst times, trying to lighten the mood.  

“Boys.” George chides and the two blush, but don’t look away. They instead meet each other’s eyes and John nods slightly passing a silent message to Alex.  

_ We don’t know George as Washington.  _

Alex nods and cracks his drink open and gulps down a portion of the liquid. The last stragglers filter in, the oldest being six feet plus with a poof of nappy black hair framing his head. John nudges Alex’s foot and he looks towards the man talking with his General. He’s strikingly similar to Gilbert, so much in fact Alex almost calls out to the boy in French. 

“Who is that?” Alex mummers and John shrugs pulling out his laptop and loading it quickly.  Alex, unable to not handwrite notes but anxious with losing notebooks, pulls an ipad and stylus out of his bag ready to work.  He tucks his chin into his chest, his lips finding the collar of his shirt. 

He doesn’t notice the black boy sitting on his other side, and just scratches little notes on his tablet.  John rolls his eyes and steals Alex’s drink, finishing it off.  He see’s the boy sitting on Alex’s other side and raises his chin in acknowledgement. The boy nods and sits back relaxed.  

Dr. Watkins clears his throat at the front of the room and everyone goes quiet.  

“I’m Dr. Watkins and this is Late American History. If you’re in this class you taken Early American History.” he places syllabuses on the front desk in front of Alex and John, and they quickly shuffle them along the rows.  Alex meets the eyes of the boy next to him and holds the gaze equally.  

“Quickly now, we don’t have time.  There is a lot to cover this semester. I’ve probably had you all before, but if I haven’t please see me after class to cover some bases.” George states. Alex breaks the gaze first and turns back to the front, still chewing on the edge of his shirt. John tugs it from his mouth. 

George talks quick about the syllabus and asks very simple but erring question. “Please raise your hand if you are an old soul.”  One boy out of the thirty keeps their hand down. “The reason I ask is because last year I had problems with new souls getting harassed but old souls. If I ever catch that happening even outside my classroom there will be consequences.”

A kid near the front grumbles under their breath and their neighbor snickers. “What was the Andrews?” The boy jumps, like he wasn't expecting to be called on. Alex meets eyes with John who shrugs but his eyes are narrow. He has ideas on who this boy is. 

“Come on say it. If you're going to talk over me might as well tell the entire class.” 

The boy swallows. “I just said blanks-”

“Don't use that word. It's equivalent to using the _ n  _ word.” Watkins corrects harshly. Another moment passes and Andrews doesn’t speak.  Watkins wets his lips and speaks.“Andrews. Who were you.”

The question is unsettling. “Benedict Arnold.” Some of the students talk animatedly among themselves, others slink down in their seats. Alex grits his teeth and John grabs his arm leaning close and hissing in his ear. 

“Chill quierdo.” 

“I can't. He's the reason I'm fucking dead.” He grits out. He's about to stand and call him out but the boy next to him beats him to it. 

“So  _ Arnold _ . How does it feel knowing you’re the reason your ex general died, or your friends were hung. Did you ever take a moment to think what their last thoughts were? How it felt knowing they were going to die because  _ you _ sold them out for a measly general position? And you did it for your wife who died the same year of our loss! Was it worth it!” 

“Thomas!” Watkins snaps at the boy who doesn't shrink under his gaze. “You may believe in your words wholeheartedly but this is not the time or place.” 

Thomas breathes heavily but sits himself back down. 

“Andrew. You may be a big shot in the real world. But in my classroom you are just a student. I don't care who you were and to be honest what you did sickens me. But I am a good man and I will look past that in order to make sure you get a good education.” He turns around and makes long strides to his desk, his posture of a general. He clicks on the overhead. 

“Let’s turn the focus to the class.” The overhead lights up and John squeezes Alex’s arm before refocusing on the notes.

Alex is tense for the rest of the class. It's not surprising. Benedict sold out his  _ friends _ without a second thought, and didn't have the balls to watch the execution. Alex wasn't happy to find out he'd been celebrated in this life and the past one. Once the class lets out Alex grabs his bag and almost makes it out of the room, before Watkins grabs the back of his shirt. 

“Hold on son.” 

“Sir-”

“Patience Alexander.” He says releasing him only when John is able to grab him if he tries to run off. “Thomas, could you hang back as well.” He says and moves to take care of the students who are new to his class. It takes 10 minutes, but he knows none of his boys have class next. 

When he finally shifts his focus to Alex, John and Thomas he crosses his arms. 

“Thomas. I know you are bitter after everything considered but you can not lash out at Benedict Andrews of all people!” 

“But sir! He sold us out!”

“Us? Please  _ quierdo _ I doubt you know what it was like. Who were you another soldier?” Alex snaps and George sighs frustrated with his boys. 

“Thomas Jefferson at your fucking service.” 

Alex is silent and John speaks up for him. 

“Sorry. He's pretty rash.”

“No offense taken.”

“Rash? Excuse me Johnathon but-”

“Boys. Now is not the time.” George reminds cutting Alex off. “If you feel like starting a fight Thomas you can do it somewhere else. I've tried so hard to keep this classroom as peaceful as possibly. I know you can hold your tongue, you've done it before. I didn't override you into my class for you to blow your cover.”

Thomas swallows and nods slowly. Alex clears his throats and stands taller, or as tall as he can. 

“So  _ Thomas.”  _ He comments. “You run off to France, and didn't lay your hands on a single gun, think you can waltz back into  _ my _ general’s good graces without any interrogation?” 

“I was overseas with your dear Marquis, trying to win France for  _ our _ cause.” He replies holding himself taller. “I lost my children in France have no idea what became of them.”

“My wife was slaughtered in our house while holding our son, I never got to meet!” Alex snaps loudly. John grabs his shoulders trying to hold him back but Alex shakes him off. “You never touched a weapon, never spent a night in barracks with dying men who reeked of sickness and called for their God to save them. You are a coward  _ Jefferson _ .”

“Coward?” Thomas scoffs truly surprised at the fire in the boy. He's maybe 2 years his senior, and this child wants to belittle him. “You think I’m a coward, but you have no idea what happened with my family. The British drove us from Monticello in the middle of the night, no warnings. And when my wife died, it took everything in my power to stay here for my daughters.  I wanted to  _ die Hamilton _ .” Thomas snaps moving towards the little man. “My wife. Died.  I watched her life fade and could do nothing to save her.  I did all I could while raising two little girls, and trying to console Sally and the Hemmings on the death of her sister.” 

“Oh Sally Hemmings.  The girl you subjected to plantation rape?” Alexander spits out ferociously.

“Everything between Sally and I was consensual! You really think I’d hurt her?” Thomas retorts, his anger getting the best of him.  How dare this boy test him, and accuse him of acts he could never commit.  Rape his Sally? He could never raise a hand against those he loved, was awful at disciplining his daughters, even if they needed the correction.

“Alexander!  That is enough son. Take a walk.” George commands moving in an attempt to separate Alex and Thomas. Thomas narrows his eyes. Alex wants to play dirty, he can do that. 

“Listen to your  _ father _ . Oh wait, you're just a bastard orphan whose mother whored-”

Alex swings and hits Thomas’s jaw, a solid crack sounding through the room. John stares mouth open and Watkins grits his teeth, a muscle bulging in his neck. 

“Alexander.”

Thomas holds a hand to his aching jaw and glares at Alex, his small body vibrating with emotion. 

“Never talk of my mother again.”

“Alexander. Leave. John take him home.”

John nods angrily and wraps a hand tightly around his bicep and pulls him from the room snapping at him in mixed Spanish and English. Once out of the room George moves forward and lightly runs his fingers along Thomas’s chin. The younger jerks away when they brush a blooming bruise. 

“He’s scared. Don't take it personally.” George mumbles and places a hand on his shoulder. 

Thomas wraps his fingers around his right wrist and nervously rubs the skin.George catches the action and pushes Thomas’ finger to a standstill. “Don't be anxious.”

“I'm not.” He quips but George chuckles. 

“Alex does the same thing. Rubs his neck raw when he's worried.”

_ He was hung.  _

“Sir,” Thomas speaks softly. 

“Shush. Now. Go and have a good night. I’ll let you know if you should come to Alex and John’s with us.” He says pats his friend on the shoulder before moving to collect his bag and exit the room. 

“Sir?” He calls and George looks over his shoulder as he buttons his blazer. “How long did you know I was…. Me?” He asks and George chuckles.  

“The minute you asked to transfer from Anderson’s course.  He won’t admit it but he’s very biased, and very inconsiderate.  We all know what generation is back, and most professors have recognized some of their material may be triggering and altered their courses.  He refuses, says it weeds out the weak ones.” 

Thomas pulls his lower lip into his mouth and worries it.  “So he knows at least whom I’ve aligned with?” He states and George shrugs. 

“Possibly.  But don’t worry about it. He’s very dense.” He’s about to slip from the room when another man slips in. 

“Mon cher, what is wrong with our petit ami?” George places a hand on the boy’s cheek. 

“Don’t worry Gil.  He’s just being Alex.” He looks to Thomas and smiles kindly, but tiredly. “Thomas you remember Marquis de Lafayette?” Thomas meets eyes with the boy who smiles brightly. 

“Monsieur Jefferson! It’s good to see you!” He cheers and moves to press a kiss to both of Thomas’s cheeks. Thomas blushes, making the freckles on his nose stand out. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to properly meet last time, but I’m sure Adrienne loved you dearly during your short time in France.” 

Thomas stumbles with his words before finally formulating an appropriate sentence. “She was quite the hostess.  Your children enjoyed having my daughters to play with.” Gilbert smiles proud of his children. 

“Not surprising.. Did you happen to hear what happened to them? There are no records of what happened to Georges or Anastasie.” He comments.  Thomas watches his old friend, the man who saved his life when he was forced to flee Monticello, the man who he promised to come to France with to help with French Independence. 

The time lost, and promises unfulfilled, make their way to the front of his mind. 

“When I first arrived they were well.  It took a month or so until the British came for Adams, Franklin and I.  Adrienne had said she would protect the children if it came down to it.  As far as I heard she was able to do so.” He says congratulating the Frenchman. He smiles fondly and looks back to George. 

“I told you my Adrienne was a strong woman.”

George sighs as he grabs his phone and takes Gilbert's hand. 

“Come on, I have lessons to plan.” George says flashing a glance to Thomas. “I'll talk to Alex and let you know if you should come by. There shouldn't be a problem.” Thomas nods but doesn't know if he wants to go. 

“That's alright sir,”

“Thomas. Please. We don't have a lot of people right now. Alex just gets anxious quickly.” 

“That's true mon ami. He's a cerf.” 

_ Deer _ . It's not an undeserving label, one look at Alex shows all the anxiety ready to spring out of him when cornered. He's seen him get in a fight before, and it wasn't pretty for either. If not for George covering for both boys, Alex wouldn't be here.

“Just watch for our text. I have your number from last semester when you wanted over rode into my fall revelation theory.” George say embarrassing Thomas more than he already is. 

“Yes sir,” 

George smiles and brushes knuckles with Gilbert before leaving the room, and Thomas. Once the two are out and away, Thomas lets out a deep breath of relief and focuses on the good. 

He found Washington and as annoying as Hamilton seems to be he is another friend. That John boy seemed to know Alex deeper than one lifetime and Gilbert, there aren't enough words to express his gratitude Gilbert is here. 

Thomas forces himself to focus on that instead of the ache that's settled into his jaw. He deserves it; there was no reason to retaliate and call him a bastard orphan son of a whore.  Thomas collects his things and moves to the door, intent on getting back to his dorm quickly and sleeping off this confusion. 

In the Heights, John keeps a tight grip on Alex’s arm as the step off the bus. Alex thinks it's a little overkill, but doesn't say anything just wriggles his arm in John’s grip. John doesn't let go of him till they enter their building but the tension just grows from there. Alex shoves his hands in his pockets, trying to calm his nerves. He fingers his keys and once he sees the door he pulls them free. 

John watched with narrow eyes and only speaks once they are both behind closed doors. 

“What. The hell. Were you thinking?!” His voice is sharp, cutting the tension in a major artery. The words hemorrhage, quickly falling from Alexander's mouth. 

“He insulted my mother!”

“You don't have to smack him for that!” John retorts slamming his keys and phone on the island. 

“Oh so I just step back and let him go after me?”

“You called him a rapist! I’m surprised he didn't hit you first Alex!” John starts pacing and Alex glares wetting his lips. 

“That's irrelevant. And are you seriously defending him? He had slaves and raped one!”

John barks out a laugh before speaking. “Fuck Alex. Are you that blind? Do you really believe everything you learned in class? If you did any of your classwork instead of trying to rely off memory you'd know half of what they teach is false!” 

Alex narrows his eyes and turns to go to their room. “ _ Fuck you John.”  _ He snaps in Spanish. 

“You'd like that wouldn't you.” John responds without missing a beat. 

The hemorrhaging stops as quick as it started; the conversation is pronounced dead at 3:47 pm. 

The door to their bedroom slams shut and John worries for a moment about a noise complaint, before deciding he doesn't care. He turns his attention to the fridge and pulls out food for dinner. He's had pork in a crockpot since one but there's still more to do. Corn, potatoes, beans and rice and some sauce. He’ll have to call his mom and ask. 

Mom. Okay so Alex had a point in getting pissed when Jefferson attacked his mom, especially considering everything. He's lucky he got Rachel back, and a loving dad. John's dad was good when he was around but his mom, he's so blessed to have a good mom. He chops the potatoes as he thinks and drops them into a bowl with corn and beans. 

He continues working in silence only pausing to check his phone. George wants to know if it's fine for Thomas to come. Honestly John doesn't think it is today but he wants Thomas to know he’s got friends here.  He doesn't answer but returns to working, singing softly under his breath in Spanish a song his mother use to sing to him. 

He sings quietly not paying any mind to anything else. He's startled when arms wrap around his torso and a face presses into his back. 

“I'm sorry John.” Alex voices quietly. His voice is rough like he's been crying, and it breaks John's resolve for a moment. 

“Are you okay?” John replies, his voice barely above a whisper. Alex simply shrugs before a wretched breath stumbles past his lips. 

John turns and wraps Alex in his arms tightly. Alex was wrong to hit Thomas but something else is going on here. 

“Talk to me cariño. What's going on in your head?” John asks and Alex wraps his arms around John's waist again. He doesn't talk, just sniffles. John presses a kiss to his temple urging Alex to talk. 

“I… Betsey told me today was Philip's birthday. It was random and I was happy but Thomas was all  _ poor me _ . He had a family damnit!” Alex sucks a breath in and his arms shake around John’s body. “He had a family! I just wanted to be a father, make a difference you know.” John nods and lays his cheek on top of Alex’s inky black hair. He may not of been the best dad, but all he wanted was a family and justice for the colonies.

All he got was a rope around his neck. 

“It's okay. Jeff- Thomas can be a dick.” John squeezes Alex tightly. 

“Can we wrestle?” The shorter asks. John nods after a moment of thought. While it may seem odd to anyone else, it's not that surprising of a request. Alex is a ball of energy, in this life and the past. When life got too much Alex would beg John, Marquis, anyone to spare with him. Let him get his energy out and he’ll buy them drinks, tobacco, whatever they wanted he'd give if they'd let him get his energy out. 

“Sure. Go clear the living room and I'll be there in a minute.” John responds as he squeezes Alex’s shoulders. The smaller nods and bounces on his toes anxious energy hanging in the air as he turns and quickly moves the furniture to the walls. John sets aside the food he was working on and covers it before turning the crockpot down. 

Can't let the food burn. 

He toes his shoes off and sees Alex pushing his hair out of his face. John tugs his shirt off over his head and Alex mimics his actions. They settle across from each other and Alex smiles an ugly smile with red eyes and blotchy cheeks. 

“ _ Empieza _ ,” he breathes. 

John lunges forward grabbing Alex around his waist. The two fall to the floor and Alex hits his shoulder with an open hand hard enough to force John off. Alex grabs his leg and yanks hard, pulling himself closer to John and hits John twice in the ribs, before John shoves him off. His head hits the floor and John pauses for a moment before Alex grits out a command to continue. 

John doesn't tell him no.

He just rolls over and settles himself opposite of Alex and watches as he rolls over and settles himself again.  John can feel an ache along his ribs, but just stretches almost painfully to relieve the soreness. Alex moves first and hits John in the femur knocking him over and onto his shoulder.  John grits his teeth against the shock, and shoves Alex off roughly before pinning him to the ground, his knees digging into his biceps.  John can’t bring himself to hurt Alex more than necessary, but a few bruises won’t hurt him. 

This continues for close to half an hour, till both of them are drenched in sweat, and too tired to get up.  The door opens and Alex groans his fingers brushing John’s head, who just shakes off the touch. Too hot.

“Who’s here?” He grumbles loudly. 

“Gilbert and I. Also Thomas is waiting outside if you don’t mind.” Alex groans loudly and rolls over, a slick snap sounds as his sweaty skin detaches from the wood floor. 

“Come in,” he shouts and John sits up muscles sore, but he's not complaining. The tension in his muscles is familiar of days in camp when Washington would be hunched over a desk with Alex sprawled in a chair offering advice. John would have been sharing a seat with Marquis and commenting on Alex’s improper state of relaxation. The ache in his bones would be attributed to straw cots, and the recoil of his musket, but he would welcome it. 

Thomas walks in and examines the situation before him. Alex is slowly sitting up, a set of bruises marking his ribs and legs, and another on his collar bone.  John matches him in bruising and Gilbert sighs loudly. 

“Mis amis, you two are the worst.” he states stepping over the two to sit on the couch. Alex shrugs and stretches, still sitting on the floor. 

“Don’t remind me.” He grumbles before pushing himself to his feet. “I’m going to clean up.” He presses his cheek to John’s hair before moving to the back of the apartment. Once Alex is out of sight George raises an eyebrow. 

“Did you two fight?” 

“No he just gets anxious and needs to let the energy out.” John says standing slowly and grabbing his shirt off the back of the recliner. “And Thomas.  Don’t talk about his mom. He’s protective over her, actually over anyone he was close to before.  Just a warning.” He says and wipes the sweat from his face, muscles stretching over his stomach. 

Thomas doesn’t speak, just watches John as he walks into the kitchen after tossing his shirt into the laundry room. Washing his hands he pulls the pork from the crockpot and tosses the veggies in, turning it to high.  He goes about shredding the meat and preparing the frying pan, before Hercules and Cato arrive with Eliza. The three exchange glances when they see Thomas, unaware of who he is, but are kind regardless.  It doesn’t take long for Alex to come back to the living room, and he’s smiling bouncing on his toes. 

“What’s up?” John asks as he stirs the crockpots contents. 

“My mom’s pregnant.” Everyone goes silent before cheering and collectively crowding around Alex asking the usual questions.  How far along, boy or girl, when is she due, how many. 

Alex answers all with enthusiasm.  He’s been an only child, his mother struggling to conceive ever since Alex was three.  Two miscarriages and 16 years later a baby is coming to the Hadley household. John quickly slips out after pressing a quick kiss to Alex’s temple, and retreats to shower as well. 

The silence falls over again as Alex takes John’s place in the kitchen preparing dinner. The recipe isn’t unfamiliar to him, they make a similar version back home. He swallows as he places the cover back on the crockpot.  

“Thomas.” He speaks and the man tenses prepared to have more hateful words thrown at him, or worse be thrown out. “I’m sorry. I was out of line to label you a rapist, when I should know best of all that the story told of us is twisted.” Alex keeps his glance down, not looking towards Thomas, keeping himself busy with setting the food upon plates.

“I forgive you,” Thomas breathes before swallowing. “I forgive you.  I’m also sorry for calling your mother a whore.” 

John walks out at that moment, toweling his hair dry.  It’s longer than the beginning of the year, just starting to tickle the back of his neck. He raises an eyebrow as he grabs the plates and motions everyone to the table. 

“Nothing quierdo.  Just being civil for once.” He states brightly making Gilbert snicker.

“Civil mon cheer! You are a  pétard Alexandre, never quiet or civil.” John laughs and George sighs, as he spoons food onto his plate.

“I remember when you got ahold of the fireworks for the Fourth and almost set the camp of fire.” George comments and Thomas laughs brightly. 

“I was getting letters for weeks about that.  Is it true you set Baron von Steuben's tent aflame Alexander?” Thomas questions taking a bite of the meat. “This is very good by the way John.” 

The group falls into easy conversation, covering all topics, some of before, most of now. General topics, and light conversation span the hours till George reminds them all of the time, and that he has an 8 am lecture tomorrow. First George, then Gilbert, Hercules and Cato, leaving Thomas, Elizabeth, Alex and John.  

Any presumed tension vanished when the two apologized before dinner, and when Thomas leaves they hug quickly, past arguments forgotten for the moment. When he leaves Elizabeth states she should leave as well and quickly hugs Alex, pressing her cheek to his before hugging John and thanking him for dinner.  Alex watches her run out of the building and catch up to Thomas.  As she falls into step next to Thomas, John wraps his arms around Alex’s waist and presses a kiss to his cheek, his lips brushing over his jaw. 

“I love you,” He murmurs resting his head on Alex’s. 

“I love you too,” Alex sighs and leans back into John’s arms. 

Alex prays this moment could be held forever. Even with some of their friends still missing, and the Revolution labeled a Rebellion, Alex could be happy. 

For this moment he lets himself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Tumblr at Weehawken-dawngunsdrawn
> 
> Any questions on translations don't be afraid to ask :)


	4. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO HELPED THIS CHAPTER SUCCEED SPECIFICALLY @MajiatheWriter169 AND @obviously_tardis_blue. Majia betad most of this chapter, and tardis left me the sweetest reviews that pushed me to get this chapter out as soon as possible.
> 
> That being said I appologize for emotions, and tears. 
> 
> And I love you all! Thanks so much!

**June 3rd 2016**

“Please stand and welcome the class of 2016.” 

The students stand,cheers resonating in the hall.  Alex looks behind him and see’s Elizabeth smiling, tears dotting her eyes.  Friends grab each other and hold tight, and Alex slips back to her and pulls her tightly into his arms making her laugh and cry.  Her cap falls to the side, painted silver with  _ College because Hogwarts doesn’t take FASFA _ written in flowy baby blue paint.  Alex straightens it on her head and laughs with her from sheer excitement the class counts down to toss their caps.  A rainbow of color is caught in a single flash, Alex knows will plague his Facebook Feed for the next three months. 

No one falls into their place for Pomp and Circumstance, but walk out as a crowd, Alex keeping his arm around Eliza, and one eye out for Gilbert. He finally spots him on the other side of the crowd and waves him over.  Gilbert makes his way through the crow and falls into place next to Alex, an enormous smile on his face.  

“We did it mon cher.” 

“That we did.” He says and Eliza smiles brightly waving to her parents, pointing them out to him animatedly. 

“They want to meet you.” She says softly and he nods fisting the edge of his robe. He's looking for his parents. They brought the twins, Margot and Brielle, with them. It's the first time they are meeting Dr. Watkins, and the first time they are seeing the others since last summer. 

Once out of the hall, Alex grabs Gilbert and Elizabeth’s hands, dragging them back towards family and friends on the lawn. He spots Thomas quickly, he's not hard to miss, and John is beside him laughing and swinging arms with Brielle, her wild blonde curls bouncing as she jumps and tugs his hands. Margot is holding his father's hands her small thumb popped into her tiny pink mouth and dark curls pulled back into a ponytail. He recognizes Gilbert’s parents but doesn’t know them well.  They’ve met through skype a few times over the years, but none of the conversations have surmounted to anything significant. He returns his focus to his sisters, Margot the quiet one and Brielle loud enough for the both of them.

Margot spots Alex first and tugs her father's hand giggling and pointing before breaking away to run to her brother. Alex leans and scoops her up pressing messy kisses to her cheek. She giggles and bats at his cheeks. Brielle notices him second and breaks from John, running and clinging to Alex's leg. Elizabeth smiles and waves to her, but she ducks her head and hides behind Alex. 

“Hey now kiddo, Betsey is safe.” She points to Elizabeth and Alex nods. She points to Gilbert next and Alex smiles. “Gilbert is safe too.” She nods and tugs Alex’s gown, Brielle squirming to get down. 

“Awex bick up.” He does so and continues to walk to his family. John slings an arm around his shoulders and presses a kiss to his cheek. 

“Congratulations, finally an adult.” He teases and Thomas sighs. 

“Are we going to stand for this. Ham- Hadley an adult? Thank God you have three more years of grad school.” Alex sighs and only turns his attention away when Margot speaks again. 

“Awex! We aw habing dinna wis Jaw wite?” He nods and she giggles. He glances to his mom and speaks quickly in Spanish, not wanting everyone to know what he's asking. 

“ _ Is she okay? Her speech is different, worse than the normal 3 year old.”  _ His mother shakes her head and rubs her fingers through Brielle’s hair. 

_ “She just got hearing tested. She's partially deaf in both ears, and could end up completely deaf by the time she's 10.”  _ Alex’s heart drops and looks to his sister.  All he wanted in life was a sibling, someone who he could protect and watch grow up. She’s deaf, will never hear his voice the way God intended her to.  He presses a kiss to her temple. 

“Hey  niña,” He says and she doesn’t look to him.  He taps her nose and it wrinkles before she looks to him and crosses her arms. “I love you.” She frowns and he takes her hand and pops up her pinky, pointer finger, and thumb. She understands immediately and giggles pressing a kiss to Alex’s cheek, her short chubby arms going around his neck immediately.  She wriggles a moment later to get down and Alex lets her.  

“Betsey,” He starts about to say something to her but she’s missing. “Betsey?” 

“She went to get her family and bring them by.” Thomas says, and looks around eyes narrowed as he searches for George. He asks just that, and Gilbert speaks up.  

“I think he went back to his office.  Said something about gifts non?” Alex smiles and places his cap on Margot’s head when she grabs at it.  It’s nothing like Betsey’s or Gilbert’s, which he painted glittery red, white, and blue in the pattern of the french flag.  Just gold paint on a black cap with the words  _ Those who stand for nothing fall for anything _ . 

“Of course.” his mother smiles and his father laughs softly. 

“Alex!” He glances and see’s Elizabeth dragging her parents over.  He smiles kindly and John squeezes his shoulder. “Sorry, I had to find my parents.  Momma, Daddy, this is Alexander-”

“Hadley.” They will be upfront, but not right away.  It’s the middle of graduation for God’s sake. 

“Nice to meet you.  I understand you married our Elizabeth in a past life.” Her father is upfront with his question.  Alex’s face flushes with color, his own parents laughing at the comment. 

“Yes, that is true.” 

“And not now?” 

“Momma!” Elizabeth chides and sighs. “Sorry honey.” She says sweetly and Alex shrugs unzipping his gown. 

“It's quite alright. No, we aren't together this time. We don't match like we did before.” Alex states, shoving his fingers into his pockets as he talks.

“I see.” Her father says and then whispers something in another language, possibly Chinese, making Elizabeth blush and respond in the same tongue. John bumps shoulders with Alex and smiles. 

“I love you.”

Alex laughs but presses a kiss to John's mouth quickly. “I love you too.” 

Gilbert ruffles Alex's hair and loops an arm around his shoulder. “Herc just texted and said he’d come by the apartment after work with Cato. He got, how you say, swamped today.” 

Thomas rolls his eyes as he speaks up. “Gilbert please. You have better English than any of us.” He's dressed down for Thomas. Grey dress pants, a baby blue button down under a white sweater and black dress shoes. 

After graduation, almost everyone was able to get hired immediately. John works at an elementary in Manhattan, Hercules got hired for the Broadway revival of Les Miserables to work costumes, and Thomas is in his last year of Law school, hoping to work in a firm close to his home while Cato is managing a small business in upstate New York. 

“Did you work today Thomas?” Alex asks and he nods yawning. 

“Yeah. Some little brat called off for their birthday. I worked my birthday, your birthday and Gilbert's. Along with Easter, and Patriotism Day. God can we like not celebrate that this year? If I have to sing God save the King one more time I'll vomit.” He shivers at the thought and Gilbert chuckles scanning the crowd for George again. He spots him quickly, walking towards them with five boxes stacked in his arms of various shapes and sizes. He struggles to carry them and Gilbert offers to hold them for him, but George refuses. 

“No thank you Gilbert, Alexander stop trying to grab them I’ve got it.” He says and sighs, resigning himself to the the help.  

“Let’s get a few pictures and then we can head over to your apartment boys.” Alex’s mom says kindly.  John nods and sends a text to his mom, who is currently at the apartment organizing food and setting.  When John graduated, Alex’s mom organized the food and party, so it’s only fair. 

Alex pulls Eliza close to him and she repositions her cap on her hair.  He has to steal his back from Margot, and Gilbert just licks his lips and winks at George, who smirks and takes the photo.  Gilbert’s parents murmur in French before taking photos and asking for one of just Gilbert and George.  They’ve been very understanding of George and Gilbert; paid for plane tickets to France last summer and covered lodging in Paris for two months. 

They take their photo and Alex grabs Eliza and hugs her tightly. She laughs brightly before hugging him back and pressing their cheeks together.  Alex rubs his cheek against her face, the stubble of facial hair tickling her.  She squirms and shoves at Alex all while laughing and Alex lets her go.  She just laughs and holds his face between her hands. 

“I’m so proud of you Alexander.” She whispers and presses a kiss to his cheek. Alex holds her tightly until Gilbert clears his throat. 

“Excusez-moi, but I would like a picture with Elizabeth.” Alex sighs and dramatically holds onto her, before she pushes him off. 

“Go get pictures with your boyfriend you idiot.” She teases and wink as John opens his arms and waggles his fingers.  

“Come here querido.” He says and Alex laughs pulling him in tight.  Brielle giggles and whispers to Margot who nods agreeing with her twin. Alex smirks and John sighs. “Those two will be the death of me. They’re just too cute.” Alex smiles focusing on his siblings. 

“Hey come tell John you like him.” Alex says and the two run to John tugging on his hands talking too fast to be legible. John laughs and crouches to pay closer attention to them.  

“I wonder where you two got so talkative.” He teases meeting eyes with Alex for a moment.  

“Come on, I think Mrs. Lara is ready for us.” Alex’s mom announces.  The twins grab Alex’s hands and look at him with big eyes before he sighs. 

“I’ll take the girls with John and Thomas.” He says and the two girls giggle interlocking fingers and grabbing Alex and John’s hands.  

“We ga ta go wit Jaw n Awex Wiel!” Margot shouts excited and Brielle giggles, her blue eyes large and joyous. 

The large and loud group of them walks to the cars behind the hall, separating only after Alex steals the car seats from his mom’s vehicle, and situates them properly in the back of John’s Accord. The twins giggle and talk loudly to each other and pull Thomas’s hair, since he’s forced to the back seat. He grumbles at first, but after a few minutes he teases and talks with the girls like they’re his own.  They ask Thomas hordes of questions, most being about his hair and clothes, and why he’s wearing glasses.  

By the time they arrive to the Heights, Thomas is dotting on them like they’re his daughters, which Alex doesn’t reprimand him for.  He can’t blame him, the two bring out every parental instinct he’s tried to suppress since they were born. 

John parks the car and helps the two out, Margot clinging to Thomas’s hand blabbing about switching eyes and for his good ears. 

“You can have them kiddo. Listen to your brother talk for me.” 

“I wike mi bwotha.  He says nice sings ta me.” She comments and reaches behind her for Brielle’s hand. “Gotta hod hads if we cwoss da stweet Weil!” Alex falls into place on Brielle’s other side grabbing her hand.  They cross and go up the stairs.  Once to their floor, John covers Alex’s eyes with his hands and laughs when Alex tries to force him away. 

“Hold still Alex,” John comments sweetly. Another grumble is heard along with a sigh

“I don’t like the dark you know that.” He grumbles and perks his ears for any other sound, hearing Gilbert’s distinct accent, and Elizabeth’s pretty voice, quiet and whispering.  The door opens to the apartment, he knows only from the creak of the hinges, and he is lead through by Brielle and Margot. They stop once inside and after a moment of shuffling, the hands are pulled back.  

The first thing Alex notices is the large banner spanning the far wall with sprawling script spelling   _ The Revolutionary Set _ in swoopy letters.  It takes a moment before Alex recognizes it as George’s handwriting. Hercules smiles and waves from beside Alex’s mother, Cato tucked under his arm, always sheltered by the other. 

“Congratulations boys, and Elizabeth.” George states stepping forward, calling Hercules forward as well.  “I trust you can get this one to Theodosia for me?” George says handing him a smaller box.  

Although Theodosia has been good friends with their group, she had to return home unexpectedly when her grandmother passed away. 

“Of course.” Hercules says pocketing the box.  It’s incredibly small, maybe large enough for a charm at best. 

“Now, I want to say before any of this, you have been my closest friends in this life and past.  That is why I’m saying what I’m saying now, instead of waiting.” George swallows and wets his lips. Even Gilbert watches expectantly, and Gilbert has been George’s closest confident these past years, so him not knowing is surprising to say the least.  Terrifying if Alex let’s himself be honest. He risks a glance to his parents who just nod supportingly. 

“Sir what are you saying.” 

“Alexander.  How would you like to rewrite history?” He asks sharply.  Alex stands taller as he lets the words settle. 

“Mon cher what do you mean?” Gilbert asks setting his gift box to the side. He steps forward, wanting to touch his lover and general, pry the answer from him.

“What if we went back to war with England? The revolutionaries have returned and most of them are not happy about how Britain handled the end of the war.  Specifically how they treated  _ you. _ ” George states looking specifically at the four boys who were hung.  Alex’s hand creeps to his neck and rubs the skin. 

“Sir?” 

“They made us criminals.  And I’m done succumbing to the needs of a King who still doesn’t respect us as states.” 

“Amor, think about what you’re saying.  War with England? Again?” Gilbert questions. 

“Sir we already tried once and failed, I can’t just jump back into a war we aren’t one hundred percent certain we will win.” Alex interjects, John pulling his hand from his neck, the skin already red and hot. 

“We sacrificed everything last time, and for only our hands to be severed, or strung up on a rope.” Some of the parents shiver at Thomas’s graphic words, but don’t speak.  George, being the smart man he is, contacted the adults and warned them he was doing this today.  

“I never got to meet my son because of the war.  I can’t jump back in… I just can’t.” Alex breathes.  Betsey touches his wrist as a shiver wracks his frame. The room is silent as the weight of the words settle in the air. 

George Watkins, the previous General of The Patriot’s cause in the Revolution, who was shot in the back while helping a fallen soldier, has suggested tyranny, an act still punishable by death.  And none of them are scared. They could die, again, and never live past their early twenties this time.  George clasps his hands behind his back wetting his lips again before speaking. 

“I… also have made advances on locating loved ones.” He comments softly.  The room is quiet enough to hear a pin drop. 

“Geo… Georges is back?” Gilbert asks quietly, in disbelief. His son he gave his general’s namesake, is back. 

“Yes.  As is Adrienne. Georges is at school at Princeton with a boy named Philip.” Elizabeth and Alex quickly perk up to that information, looking to each other, and twisting fingers together tightly.  Philip? Their Philip who never got to grow up and see the world, who was slaughtered as a baby in his mother’s arms? Elizabeth can still hear the screams as her son was torn from her arms and thrown to the ground.  Alex pulls her close, needing the stability from his past wife. 

“Our Philip?” He asks quietly.  “You found our son?” Elizabeth sucks a wet breath in, blotting her eyes, makeup still perfect. 

“I can’t say.  The boy doesn’t have memories of a past life, so he could be Philip. Or he could be a new soul.  He’s coming regardless.”

“Coming?  Where? Mon cher-”

“Gilbert.  Breathe darling.” George says urging his lover to steady himself. “I’ve invited them to join me, us, at Mount Vernon over the summer.  I’ve been able to purchase the estate from the government over the past year, and it’s now in my possession.“

“What if they recognize you?” Thomas asks softly. “If the government finds out what you’re doing you’ll be killed.” He states, his thumb slowly pressing into his wrist. 

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take Thomas.” He swallows again, nerves getting to him. “I… also came across a woman going by the name Sarah Jefferson.” Thomas almost drops the box in his arms.

“Sarah?  She took my name…” 

“She’s that girl from Youtube with vitiligo or something,” John comments, the first time he’s spoken up. “She was going to go on The Voice this year.” 

“She agreed to travel to Virginia with Adrienne to meet with us.” George wets his lips again and breathes long and slow.  “You don’t have to agree to revolution if you don’t want to. But please come with me to Mount Vernon next week to see your loved ones.” George practically begs them, his voice thin and strained.  

“Of course.” John murmurs before speaking up. “Did you happen to find Martha and Francis?” He asks slowly. George closes his eyes and breathes deeply. 

“John, Martha was killed two years ago in a car accident.  I have no idea where Francis is.” John swallows tightly and nods.  Even if he didn’t love Martha like a husband should have, he loved her as a friend, and his daughter?  He just wants to apologize for being a shitty dad, for never seeing her and telling her he loved her.

“I’m sorry John,” Alex says pulling him into his hug with Elizabeth, pressing a kiss to his cheek and letting his head rest on his shoulder. John breathes slowly, trying to suppress emotions he didn’t know he could feel. 

Regret? Anger? Sorrow? 

Longing.  Longing for a life he may not of have wanted, but a life he owed to his daughter. 

“It’s fine.” He whispers and George presses a hand to his chest, feeling the sting of a bullet piercing his skin. The room is silent except for Alex’s quiet whisperings to John.  Thomas leans on the wall, staring at the floor, eyes distant thinking of his Sally. Gilbert is pacing and mumbling to himself as he thinks of his wife and son.  

For a moment George regrets telling them, afraid he’s turned them off of the idea of a revolution.  George died for the ideals of freedom once, and he’s willing to do it again, but he doesn’t know of these boys.  They are just boys, why is he pulling them back to a battle that is not needed, but he desperately believes in? 

“Are you sure you have them?” Thomas asks glancing to George quickly.  He so desperately wants this to be real, to have Sally back with him.  He knows his Martha would be with them if she could, but fate isn’t allowing that this time. 

“Sarah openly told me who she was.  Why would she stake a claim to that life, when as she said,  _ most people just assume I’m crazy for loving Tommy _ ,” Thomas sucks a breath and laughs weakly. His Sally.  Still loving him after everything historians said about him, even if it stains them both. 

“Oh Sally baby,” Thomas laughs shaking his head as he speaks. “When will she be there, at Mount Vernon.  I want to see her as soon as possible.” He asks and George smiles happy for his friend. 

“She’s arriving in a week, as are Margarita and her friend. I’d suggest going into work and getting the next month off.” He advizes. “Now open your gifts. I didn’t search the entire East Coast for you to ignore my hard work.” he teases, mood lighter than anyone expects after such a heavy conversation. Elizabeth catches the comment about Margarita, her little sister, killed in the raid on the Schuyler mansion, but she says nothing.  Margarita was a common name, it doesn’t have to be her sister. 

They all move to the couch, a bit overwhelmed with everything.  Alex presses a soft kiss to Elizabeth’s temple before returning his focus to the box.  It’s not elegantly wrapped, Just simple green paper and a gold bow.  He rips the wrapping off, and for a moment only the sound of rustling paper is heard.  Gilbert opens his box first, and gasps loudly, pulling a ring out.  Everyone goes silent, expecting a proposal but Gilbert just cries, tears falling down his cheeks. 

“The La Fayette crest.  Amor where did you find this?” he asks slipping it onto his finger. 

“Some pawn shop in Columbus Ohio of all places.” Gilbert examines the rest of his gift, but says nothing only continues to let tears slip out.  

Alex refocuses on his box, and pulls the top off, and removes tissue paper.  Two pistols lie side by side and Alex pulls them out quickly, searching desperately for a dent in the grip and a tarnishing on barrell. He finds both and laughs loudly. 

“My dueling pistols!  John look it’s the one you shot Lee with!” He says holding one out to John.  John ignores him looking at a stack of books and a sword.  His sword.  His books.  He left these books in England, had them shipped back home, but never knew if they made it, and his sword.  He slaughtered so many Redcoats with this. 

“John?” Alex says placing a hand on his shoulder shaking softly.

“Sorry.” He murmurs taking the sword out of the long box and turning it over in his hands, studying the sheathe. For a moment he forgets where he is, and is transported back to his general’s tent, heavy wool coats and scratchy sheets, where the smell of parchment and ink permeate the air. 

He blinks and sighs. “George, where did you find all of this?” He asks, not releasing his grip on the blade. He looks up and George smiles knowingly. 

“Random pawn shops, shut down historical shops.  Some were even owned by descendents of your families.” He says glancing to Thomas who is holding two bands. He’s staring at them, tears in his eyes threatening to spill over, but they haven’t yet. 

Alex glances to Elizabeth, and she’s crying big wet tears. In her hand she’s holding all the letters Alex sent her, every word on their original parchment, the seal still in place. A few are ripped around the edges, but they are there. She reads one of them and brushes tears away, her eyeliner smudging.

Alex looks at the letter catching the last line. 

_ Adieu best of wives and best of Women.  Embrace our child and sisters for me. _

_ Ever Yours _

_ A H _

Tears finally break through and he rubs them away, fully aware that he should be embarrassed of himself. Crying, over a letter.  He wrote a lifetime ago. But this letter was the last thing he wrote, his anger and frustration not captured in the words because he didn’t want to startle his wife who was with child.  The ink blot in the bottom corner brings back the memory of tears and Marquis and Laurens trying to calm their friend. He should be ashamed. 

But he doesn’t feel shame, only love as he pulls his Betsey into his arms, crying fat tears as she sobs into his shoulder. 

\---

Sarah pulls her hair back into a bun, the poofy nature of her curls exaggerated by the style.  Adrienne smiles from behind her as she twists her braids into a scarf wrap.  

“You look beautiful  chéri .  Always do.” She says placing her slim hands on Sarah’s sturdy shoulders. She rests her chin in the poof of the bun and watches as her American friend pulls out concealer. “What are you doing?” She asks watching as Sarah twists open the tube. 

“Applying makeup?” She states confused, only pausing her actions to speak.

“You don’t need to.” Adrienne grumbles and sighs. “You’re a  beauté, no need for this junk.” She says motioning to the bottles of foundation and skin treatments. 

“I don’t like the vitiligo Adri.  You know I don’t want to be stared at.” She mumbles, blending the coverage across cheekbones that should be illegal. 

Adrienne rolls her eyes, a playful smile on her mouth. “I’d be more inclined to believe that if you weren’t about to go finish a video with Tobi.” She teases.  Her friend rolls her eyes, but doesn’t stop her routine.  She doesn't cover her vitiligo completely, just hides a few small imperfections before adding mascara and filling in her eyebrows. 

She pulls her hair from the bun, the only purpose for it was to keep it out of her face, and ruffles it back to the voluminous height she’s been working on achieving for years.  Adrienne hands Sarah the top she’s suppose to wear and smiles at her friend. 

“So,” she starts excitedly.  Sarah rolls her eyes but smiles as she pulls the soft adidas top over her chest. 

“Yes?” She pushes as she ties a knot in the fabric, showing off her new belly button piercing. 

Adrienne smiles and settles down into a chair in the room. “Remember that guy we skyped with two weeks ago?” 

“The professor at King’s? Yeah why?” She asks slipping her feet into the shoes provided for her. 

“He knows our Gilbert and Thomas.” She says exited.  Sarah pauses in her actions and looks over to the French woman, blowing hair from her eyes. 

“You’re telling me the professor found Tommy?” Her words are slow, contemplating fully believing her friend. It’s not like Adrienne would joke about Thomas and Gilbert, but it’s the first time she’s mentioned finding them in a while. 

“Yeah.  He called me three days ago on my way home from rehearsal to invite us down to Virginia.  Please come,” She says and Sarah stands to her full height. 

“Adrienne, we don’t know this man.  We met him off the internet, don’t even know his first name.”

“It’s George. He was George Washington.  I looked him up on Facebook, and he’s a normal guy. Please, we can tell our landlord to call the cops if we don’t call him after we get there. Have backups, I’ll tell my parents, but please. Don’t let us miss out on this due to fear ma ami.” Adrienne begs Sarah her voice breaking at the end.  She just wants to see her Gilbert, let him know she loved him deeply and fully and their children survived longer than any of them would’ve thought thanks to Sally. 

Sarah understands the pain behind Adrienne’s request, the urgency to find those she loves is strong too. But the risk if they are wrong, could result in death. She remembers death; Quiet, dark, overpowering. But not painful.  Sarah died in her sleep, when French revolutionaries came for the La Fayette and Jefferson children.  They shot her in the back of the head, not thinking an American slave worthy of guillotine. 

She breathes deeply, and runs a hand through her her dark curls, shaking out the volume. 

“Fine.  When does he want us?” 

“Tuesday.” Today is Friday.  “We can leave on Sunday night, get a plane ticket to DC and drive from there.” Sarah sighs, but nods a smile breaking out on her face. 

“Fine.  But  _ you’re  _ packing the cooler. I’m not paying DC prices.” She grabs her phone and walks from the room meeting Tobi McGuire in the studio.  He welcomes her and the two start soundcheck after introductions, not wasting any time.  

When it comes time to record Sarah sings beautifully and powerfully like she always does. They cover two songs, one for each artist, and exchange phone numbers.  Even though Sarah prefers the One Mic - One Take approach, Tobi still wants her to go over the footage before he posts it on his channel.  

That night Sarah and Adrienne watch TV and film a quick vlog, going over simple questions, and announcing their trip to DC.  A majority of their fans beg them to do a show, but they shut it down quickly, announcing a short break for a family trip. 

Saturday comes and goes with fast packing and Adrienne going to the store for three hours to collect travel necessities.  Sarah tracks down a flight, that unfortunately leaves at 5 am, but it’s cheap and allows two carryons.  The girls figure all the ways to stuff food in a bag and still carry clothes, before managing only two suitcases and four carryons. 

Adrienne comments about the light travel only making Sarah sigh.  Of course the former Marquise de La Fayette would think this light travel, but for a former slave, having enough belongings to fill one suitcase is wonderful in itself. They spend the night editing the vlog from the night before and charging phones and camera’s.  By 1 am they’ve posted the vlog, tweeted it out, and Adrienne has fallen asleep twice.  In the silence of the witching hour Sarah contemplates the possible outcome of the next few days.  

Will Tommy remember her? Will he even want her, or will he have found Martha?  She wouldn’t blame him if he continued to love Martha, she was lovely, and the best sister Sarah could’ve asked for; Kind, loving, wonderful with the children.  Always would look after the other Hemming’s and take them into the house if the overseer was in a particularly bad mood. She voiced her wish of emancipation to Thomas on multiple occasions, and he agreed and struggled to find a way to do so. But nothing came of it because of his early death. 

Death.  Did someone hold him as he passed, or was he left alone?  Did anyone know he was dead when the found him or did they just assume he had passed out from pain again? 

She runs her hands over her scarf wrap anxiety creeping into her system. 

“Sarah, go to sleep.  I have an alarm set for 3:30.” Adrienne mumbles, her arms sleepily wrapping around her friend’s waist with a yawn. She nuzzles her head into Sarah’s stomach making the other laugh lazily. Sarah slides her body down the couch, checks if her phone is still charging, and lays her head on the pillow.  

In her dreams she sees Thomas, and he’s still as wonderfully kind and loving as before.  He kisses her, and that’s all she needs to completely convince her this trip is worth it.

\---

Margarita Shuck was not pleased with her parents, and she let them know that. They weren’t her real parents, just adoptive parents. Like hell they could tell her she couldn’t spend an extra week in DC with Maria to go “sight seeing”.  

“I don’t like how this relationship between you and Maria is progressing that’s all.” Her father says. Accepting Christians her ass.  Conservative pastor who is struggling to love his latina daughter because she’s LGBTQ+ is more like it. 

“You just don’t like I’m bisexual.” She snaps over the phone. 

“I don’t agree with it, no.  But I still love you Pegs.” 

“I just want to see the monuments and museums. I’ve been in DC for two years and not once have I been able to actually explore!” Her father sighs, and she hears him talking to her mother.  She bounces her leg and Maria frowns running her finger through Margarita’s hair.  

“Shh querida.” Maria whispers against her ear.  

“Pegs,” 

“Dad, enough with the  _ Peggy  _ stuff.  I’m not her.” She cuts her dad off and rubs the palm of her hand into her cheek, leaning on the table. He sighs from the other side of the line before speaking. 

“You have two weeks.  That’s it. Then you come home.  Please? Your mom and I miss you.” She nods and leans back to let Maria rub her fingers against her scalp. 

“Thank you dad.” She breathes graciously but he hangs up.  She pulls the phone away from her ear with sigh.  

“Your dad is a mess.” Maria murmurs pressing her lips to the back of Margarita’s neck. 

“Don’t have to remind me.” she grumbles before looking over her shoulder and pressing her mouth to Maria’s.  Sitting in her apartment, nothing could beat this moment.  Soft kisses and giggles, until Maria flicks flour from her early project at her girlfriend. 

“Maria!” She shakes her hair out and Maria giggles kissing her mouth softly. 

“I love you.” She teases making the younger sigh. 

“I love you too.” She says and grabs her purse searching for chewing gum.  They have thirty minutes to get to Mount Vernon, which is more than enough time.  Maria owns a small apartment on the south side of Alexandria, and with buses taking people right to the entrance of Mount Vernon Estate, Maria has to give herself some credit for planning. 

The bus stops three minutes after the girls arrive at the stop, and it takes another twenty to get to the estate. Seven more to gather the courage to knock on the door. 

Margarita grabs Maria’s hand and squeezes tight, anxious and excited.  If what Dr. Watkins said over the phone is true then her sister is here, as is Alexander. She misses the two of them, wants to witness their love firsthand. The door creaks open and there stands the man she saw on the skype call.  He’s rather handsome, and she wonders if he holds any political power.  Living in Mount Vernon, he has to. This was George Washington’s home.

“Margarita and Maria,” He says their names like a question.  

“That’s us.” Maria says squeezing Margarita’s fingers again. 

“Please come in,” He ushers them in and directs them towards a pallor with 4 other people, all of color.  She wonders for a moment if this was all a joke, but the youngest boy looks up and wets his lips.

“Peggy Schuyler?” He asks and she nods slowly. 

“Margarita Shuck, actually.” She corrects.  He swallows anxiety rumbling off him. 

“Philip Harrison, previously Hamilton.” His words tumble from his mouth and he flushes red, obviously nervous. The boy at his feet talks quietly to a lithe and graceful woman, tugging his fingers through the ends of his braids.  A loud shout and laughter echos from another room catching all their attention.  Each of them try and pinpoint their loved ones voices but they have no luck.  Nothing distinguishable lingers from their past life, only making the six of them more anxious. The Doctor reappears in the doorway, no one noticed he left too focused on their thoughts. 

“Come with me.  They’re right in the living room.” Margarita shivers and Maria pulls her close, holding her suffocatingly tight for a single moment. 

“Don’t worry yourself querida, it’ll be okay.” She whispers quickly.  They walk hand in hand to the living room, and it goes silent.  Everyone stares, and but she focuses on the pretty girl with an afro. Is that Elizabeth? Or is she the Asian girl. She can’t decide. 

The girl with splotchy black and white skin speaks quietly, almost a whisper. “Thomas?” One of the three black boys glances up anxiously. 

“Sally?” She’s urged forward by her friend who was talking to the boy with braids.  She stumbles over her feet and for the first few steps before Thomas meets her halfway there. She wraps her arms around his neck and a laugh and he presses his face to her neck, breathing deeply before picking her up, his strong arms around her waist.  He pulls away and with a quick glance to her lips, she moves and kisses him.  The Latino boys whistle as they kiss long and slow. The break contact and she shivers, goose flesh breaking out against her skin. 

“Martha?” the girl breathes, flustered.  She can’t keep her hands off his face, arms, any place she can touch she does. 

“She’s not here,” He holds her tightly, placing her feet on the ground so carefully. This spurs the rest of the group to speak up, calling for names, of loved ones. The loudest being for Philip. The boy moves forward only when Georges pushes him. 

“Go!” he laughs and Philip is enveloped by the latino man and the Asian woman. 

“Eliza?” Margarita voices, praying it’s her.  She perks up and meets eyes with her.  

“Peggy,” 

She pulls Maria behind her but let’s go to hold her sister tightly.  They whisper meaningless words to each other, one arm still around Philip and who she assumes to be Alexander. Her brother in law.  She leans into her sister who doesn’t let her go. 

Across the room, Georges watches his parents reunite, his père kissing his mère without shame, before blushing and pulling back. 

“Mon dieu, je suis désolé mon amour-”

“ _ Shh, Gilbert. It's alright _ .” She cuts him off mid sentence and presses another quick kiss to his mouth. He pulls back slowly, and wets his lips. 

“ _ Chéri, I… please understand I didn't mean to fall before I met you again please understand,” _

_ “Gilbert what are you talking about, slow down.”  _

“Breathe Gilbert,” George says moving closer to the man. “It's okay, breath,” 

“Je suis désolé,”

“Don't be, it's okay. Talk to your son he's just standing there.” George teases and Georges smiles and waves shyly. 

“Georges,” 

“Père,” 

Gilbert laughs and motions his son forward and hugs him tightly and pulls Adrienne in. He holds the three of them togetherness if being separated a moment long would kill him, which it very might. 

“Ma famille,” he breathes, the French sliding off his tongue naturally. He moves back only to examine his son and wife. He holds a hand on his shoulder, a tear slipping from his eye. 

“I'm so sorry-”

“Don't.” Gilbert looks at his son surprised. “Don't apologize for dying, for running off to America, for anything. I'm not mad, mère wasn't mad Anastasia wasn't mad. We just missed you.” He says softly.  Gilbert swallows and looks to Adrienne. 

“Is that true?” 

“It is.” Gilbert looks to George who’s standing by calmly. “Don’t worry Gilbert, the children still loved you.”

“I died on you, I left you to fend for our children and you were thrown in jail and died because of me.”

“And I have no regrets for that amour.  I would’ve done whatever it took to keep the children safe.” Adrienne interjects and sighs. 

“Adrienne… I have to be honest with you mon amour.  I love you, I do,” She perks up and nods him on, his hands coming to cup her cheeks. “But mon cher I have fallen for another,a man and I can never forgive myself.  I’m so sorry, I didn’t think we’d ever see each other again.” Her eyes fill with tears, but the don’t spill.  She completely understands, but it doesn't lessen the sting of rejection.  She swallows back the pain, and blinks away the tears. 

“I think now is a good time to take a seat.” George announces and crosses his arms glancing through the living room.  Jefferson and Sarah haven’t moved from the center of the room and are swaying just holding each other. Elizabeth, Margarita, Alex, Philip and Maria are sitting on the floor together talking.  John sits quietly with Theodosia, Hercules and Cato, none of them talking, pushing the awkward tension to the forefront. 

It takes a moment for everyone to settle into a comfortable position, and once silence falls over the room, George clears his throat. 

“So.  We all are here, but i’m not sure everyone has met.” He looks pointedly to Maria, not rude but curious. She leans herself against Margarita and breathes before speaking. 

“I’m Maria Richards, previously Reynolds.” No one reacts and she tucks her head. “Figures.  He was a dick too.” Margarita presses her lips to her cheek. 

“It’s okay,” 

“I’m surrounded by every prominent person from the Rebellion as possible.  I was a whore, nothing more.” She mumbles.  

“There’s nothing wrong with that sweetie.” Sarah speaks, still under Thomas’s arm. 

“There was in that time period.” 

“And now there’s not.  If anyone has ever given you crap about it, they can suck it up. Life was hard.” Maria sucks on her cheek and Margarita smiles and nods at her. 

“It’s not a problem. That was then this is now babe, you know I don’t care.” She teases and Maria casts her eyes up to Margarita.  They smile and squeeze hands. 

“Sex workers are cool.” Alex says, John snorting unattractively. 

“You just want to hear the stories.” John accuses and Alex shrugs meeting eyes with Maria. 

“I do.  I like hearing the experiences, not the sex.  Like people who pay thirty pounds just to cuddle and talk about cats.” He explains. Maria laughs and leans back on her hands. 

“Someone gave me ten pounds and a loaf of bread just to make out and rub his feet.” she states offhandedly. 

Everyone laughs at that but Gilbert presses his lips into a thin line. George catches it and sighs walking towards the man. He cradled his jaw and presses a kiss to his mouth. It wasn't chaste in any sense of the word but it wasn't showy. A long push and pull of their mouths and Georges staring at his father. 

“Well I'll be damned.”  Philip smirks and winks at the youngest Frenchman who just blushes and mumbles something under his breath. “Oh shut up.” He retorts throwing a pillow at the boy, who catches it and tosses it back. Alex meets eyes with John a knowing smirk on his lips. 

“I'm not even surprised.” John comments and the two boys look between each other, Georges twisting his hair into a bun. 

“What do you mean?” he asks as his father and George pull away from each other, a soft kiss on the cheek ending the affair. 

“You two. Together.”

“We’re not dating.” Philip interjects and Georges rolls his eyes. 

“Mon amour, please.  Don’t act like you aren’t obsessed with me.” He teases, the younger blushing. Georges smirks and leans forward, his forearms resting on his thighs. “You love me and you know it Philipe,” 

“I just like your bed, and that you pay for Taco Bell.” He says not even meeting his eyes.  Georges’s face falls concerned for a moment before Philip smirks. “Kidding.” 

George sits next to Gilbert and quietly takes his hand, squeezing.  Gilbert squeezes back as they watch the conversations unfold, most directed towards Sarah. She lived the longest of any of them, and saw the results of a failed revolution first hand. She reveals that she stayed with Adrienne till she was taken away by the British army for conspiring against the crown, leaving Sally behind, because who would worry about a slave girl? She lived in France for over 12 years, garding the La Fayette and Jefferson children with the help of Pierre L’Enfant.

Gilbert smiles fondly at the mention of his friend and mentor. Georges pipes up from time to time with details Sarah forgot, but stays quiet for the most part. 

She only falters once, while talking about the British plan to brand America. 

“They just… didn’t stop.  They wanted to burn Monticello to the ground, destroy Independence Hall anything that had any significance to the Rebellion they wanted gone.” She holds her head in her hands for a moment, pressing her fingers onto her eyes until she see’s blue.  Pulling away she breathes as Thomas rubs her back. “They never did, the remaining colonies were ready to fight if they touched Monticello. It was another four years till the British backed down, but they spread rumors about you Tommy. Said you raped me, never loved Martha, beat Patsy and Mary.” 

“Shh, it’s okay don’t think about it.” Thomas interrupts and squeezes her shoulder. She shakes her head and pushes her nappy curls back off her face.  Thomas pulls them into a bun for her, his hands soft. The domesticity of the actions are underwhelming.  Thomas would fall right into old habits with Sarah, after only an hour. 

At this point Sarah sits back up and Thomas wets his lips. George checks the clock and see’s it’s almost 6 pm, his stomach twisting with mild hunger. 

“I’m going to place an order for pizza, feel free to roam the house.” He states standing and leaving the room.  Sarah stands as well, Thomas following automatically and they walk together towards the kitchen.  Everyone watches them, the ease between them and the kiss Thomas places on her cheek.  

Adrienne leans back into her seat and speaks quietly. “All she wanted was Thomas. I'm happy for her.” 

It doesn't take a genius to read between the line. 

_ All I wanted was Gilbert, but I'm happy for him even if it hurts.  _

Gilbert pulls her in for a tight hug, relaxing the Frenchwoman, whispering nonsense that she needs to hear. 

No one judges. No one stares. No one bothers to interrupt when George re enters the room. 

The emotions of finding someone you loved, when you didn't think you'd ever see them again, are so overwhelming. 

Give them time and the lust for companionship will die, and they will realize their love will last in a different median. 

They will last in giggles and inside jokes, and celebrations of birthdays and awards. They will last in tears and pain and emotions so strong they fall to their knees praying for an outcome other than death. 

But they will rise. And they will survive. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I'm capable of writing a cheesier ending. Someone take my computer away from me but don't because I need this fic so bad.  
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Follow me on tumblr @weehawken-dawngunsdrawn and Twitter @adothamwasbi


	5. 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy balls.   
> I'm the actual worst. how long has it been almost 2 months?   
> If you hate me I understand, if not, whyyyyy  
> Okay so i'm on break so i'll work to push the next chapter out asap, but within like the next couple days.   
> I also need to update like every other fic I have so just a warning, but this fic is my top goals tbh  
> Thank you for sticking with this and I love each and everyone of you!  
> ALSO: this is unedited, so I will be back within 24 hours to deep comb through it and post the completely revised chapter. Follow my tumblr (@weehawken-dawngunsdrawn) if you want updates

Sarah wakes up later than she has in the past year, but she doesn’t care.  She rolls over in a bed she doesn’t own and see’s Thomas Jef- Jenkins, asleep his curly afro spread out on the white pillow case.  She shuffles her body closer to Thomas’s, her legs cold since he stole the blankets during the night. She presses quick kiss to his cheek before she removes herself from the bed, and grabs a pair of leggings, a tee and a sports bra.  Changing quickly she throws a glance back to Thomas and presses another kiss to his face as she grabs her phone. 

Walking down the stairs and into the kitchen she see’s Adrienne pouring coffee, chatting lightly with Elizabeth. 

“But what did you do when you discovered he loved John ma ami?” She asks, not noticing her friend yet. 

“I… it hurt like hell.  I won’t tell you it didn’t.  But I made myself come to terms with the fact this life is different.  Homosexuality isn’t looked at like it was in 1770, and I knew I couldn’t fight John for him.  John’s only wanted Alex, who was I to take that from him?” She sighs and sips her coffee, the color of caramel. Adrienne shrugs and notices Sarah standing in the door. 

“Oh, I was wondering when you were getting up.” She comments and reaches down, shoving her feet in her shoes.  “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” She asks as Sarah shoves her phone in the side pocket of her sports bra. 

“No I’m fine, but thank you.” She comments pushing her hair of her neck. “Have fun, I'll let the boys know where you are if they ask.” She states gathering her hair into a lazy bun. Adrienne and Sarah exchange a look, before giving Elizabeth a hug.  The two girls leave the mansion, only stopping to retie shoes before their feet pound off the sidewalk and down a path that leads around the slave and servant quarters.  The run for close to thirty minutes, only letting up when Sarah’s shoes came untied.  They continue till their lungs burn, and their feet are numb, and their body tingles with sticky sweat and tired muscles.  

The make a final loop around the east side of the plantation, before stepping off the path and trudging towards the house.  Their feet ache, and Sarah can feel pain in her calves, but she’s refreshed. Adrienne opens the door and sighs when the cool air hits her skin.  

“Thank Jesus,” Sarah mumbles going to the kitchen. Thomas meets her eyes and smiles. She smiles back, but declines a hug. 

“Don’t want to get you stinky.” She responds and stretches over her head, arching her torso.  

“Where did you guys go?” Thomas asks yawning, his pink tongue visible. 

“A run. We try to at least 3 times a week.” Adrienne comments squeezing Georges shoulder as she passes him. Sarah pulls two water bottles from the fridge and tosses one to Adrienne, cracking her own open to chug the water down.  She presses the slick plastic to her skin moments after shutting it, shivering as her body cools down. 

“Did you have any other plans for the day?” Thomas asks, jumping when Philip falls down the stairs. He curses loudly, and pushes himself up, Georges cackling the entire time. 

“Mon cher, this is why I said we aren’t getting a two story apartment.” Georges comments off handedly, his large hands wrapped around his coffee mug. 

“Oh shut up.” He grumbles standing slowly. His feet find traction and walks towards George, who pulls him down by his shirt pressing a kiss to his mouth. 

“I’m kidding  chéri,” 

Philip smiles and presses another kiss to his mouth before grabbing Georges coffee cup, only pulling a pathetic whine from his mouth. 

“Oh shush querido, I’ll make you more.” He states, pulling the pot from the counter and pouring another cup, cream and enough sugar to cause a heart attack. Considering George purchased this house in January it’s wonderfully stocked, and up to date. 

The mix of languages is different but comfortable. Sarah's use to the soft French tones, and rolling Spanish reminds her of the plantation. She steps to the side as Philip pours his coffee. 

“Sleeping, relaxing. Spending time with you. Maybe we could get dinner?” She suggests casually answering Thomas question from earlier. Thomas smiles kindly at her, missing for a moment what they could've been, but corrects himself. 

They wouldn't have been anything. She his slave, he the plantation master who loved her. 

He wants to love her now, like she deserves.  She laughs at something Adrienne says and turns her attention back to him a smile gracing her lips.  They part, and Thomas notices a splotch of vitiligo on the corner of her mouth, highlighting the skin a brighter tone. The splotches trail over her face, the most across her nose and cheeks, like the milky way on a clear night. A long strip of white skin trails from her left ear down her clavicles till it disappears under her shirt, and another splatter of color, or lack thereof, covers her right arm in large patches. 

“Thomas?” his eyes jump back to her face. God her face is so beautiful. 

“Yeah?” She laughs and looks to Adrienne who shrugs then says something in French too fast for Thomas to catch. 

“Babe?” He voices and she laughs again. 

“Nothing,” She teases and sips her drink again. “I was asking you what you thought of Dr. Watkins bringing us all here.” She voices. He shrugs fiddling with a too long curl that falls into his line of sight. 

“Ever since I've met him, George has been obsessed with getting the original rebels together. I think subliminally he wants a family and without a woman to provide a blood heir, a created family will do.” He release the strand of hair focusing on Sarah again, a teasing smile on his lips. 

Sarah smiles back not noticing George entering the kitchen, Gilbert yawning but following behind. 

“Mon Cher it's much too early.”

“It's 9 am Gilbert.” 

“Too early.” He mumbles opening the fridge and releasing George’s hand. George sighs, but pulls out two more mugs and goes to pour the coffee, only to realize it's all out. He works on getting a new cup started, humming as he works. Loud laughter is heard upstairs and becomes increasingly louder as Alex and John run down the stairs, John trailing behind with either shaving cream or whipped cream covering his face. 

“Alexander fucking Hadley get your latino ass back here!” John snaps tugging his shirt up to wipe away to paste. Alex cackles and sets the can of whipped cream on the island. Georges grabs it and sprays some in his mouth before Philip steals it to hand to George. 

“No way, that was priceless.” He laughs and John grumbles and turns to stomp back up the stairs, presumably to clean up. 

“Alex.” George comments as he whips eggs for French Toast and Gilbert sighs, seeing the conversation unfold in his head.

“What?” Alex asks innocently.  It was just a game, no harm was meant by it.

“You know what.  We shouldn’t have to have this conversation son.”

“I’m not your son.” Alex retorts automatically. 

“Alexander, go fix whatever problem you caused.” Elizabeth comments walking down the stairs, dressed for the day in casual jeans, flats and a tee. She brushes her hair over her shoulder, frustrated with her past husband. 

“Oh come on Betsey it was a joke.” 

“A joke that John, didn’t find funny.  Would you have pulled something like that when we were courting?”

“That’s different-”

“Would you have. Pulled that. When we were courting?” She repeats slowly, enunciating each word perfectly. Alex shrinks under her gaze, which is humorous considering she’s about three inches shorter than Alex.  

“No,” He grumbles and she narrows her eyes, before sighing. 

“Go apologize.  If not for John for me.  I don’t like seeing you two fight.” She says and watches him stalk away.  His voice can be heard calling John’s name once he’s on the second level. 

“You shouldn’t manipulate him like that mon ami.” Gilbert comments as he leans against the counter, a coffee cup in his hand. Elizabeth nods acknowledging her mistake and leans against the counter as well, resting her pretty head in her hands. 

“I know. But like hell I’m giving up Alexander for him to screw up a relationship with John.” Thomas rubs her shoulder, trying to relax her. “I didn’t think I’d see him and then… John shows up as well.  I knew I didn’t have a chance.” Sarah speaks up quietly and carefully. 

“Maybe that’s a good thing though,” Thomas glances to her quickly.

“What?” Adrienne voices. 

“I mean, like what’s some stuff you don’t enjoy about Alex this time?” Elizabeth nods and swallows sitting up straighter.  Gilbert slides a cup of coffee closer to her, and she takes it sipping before reaching for sugar and cream. “Maybe those qualities would have completely ruined any friendship if you two dated. And at least you still have him around.” Sarah looks to Thomas with a smile. 

“You seem like you’ve thought this out,” Gilbert states and Adrienne laughs nudging her friend, a teasing smile on her lips. 

“I had.” She states and nudges Adrienne back. “I didn’t know if Martha was back, and if she was I had accepted the fact I would be second to her.” Thomas frowns and Sarah cuts her off. “Don’t Tommy.  I remember how much you loved her.  And I wouldn’t have blamed you, she was wonderful and a great mom.” She sips her coffee slowly, Thomas watching her carefully before talking.

“Yes, I loved Martha. Her death broke my heart but Sarah baby, you’re different than her and I love, and loved, you just as much.” He wets his lips before continuing. “I'm just surprised you came back to me.” 

George and Gilbert exchange looks as Sarah thinks through her next words. 

“It's all lies, why would I care. The war cut anything we could've been short anyways.” She comments reaching around Adrienne for a plain piece of French Toast. 

“You two never…” Gilbert comments making an obscene motion with his hands. Adrienne smacks his arm glaring at Georges as him and Philip snicker. 

“Boys.” 

“No, but not like information should be any concern to you Gilbert.” Thomas retorts frustrated. “Unfortunately there wasn't enough time.  We’d been in France, what three months, then the British came and took away Adams, Franklin and I.  Sally took the children off to Adrienne…” He shivers and Sarah moves towards him setting her cup down.  She takes his face in her hands and looks him in the eyes. 

“It’s fine.  Don’t worry.  We’re back, and I’ll look for Patsy and the other children.” She says and presses a chaste kiss to his mouth. Thomas relaxes for a moment before pulling her in close for a tight hug. He whispers words to her and she laughs in his arms. 

That moment Theo walks down stairs, hair tied up and dressed for the day. 

“I don't know what happened but Alex and John are covered in cool whip and making out in the hall.” Elizabeth groans resting her head in her arms. 

“Of course.” She lifts her head before continuing. “I'm sorry Philip he's not normally like this.”

Philip smirks and meets eyes with Georges who tries to stifle a laugh but fails and ends up snorting and choking on his coffee. Adrienne sighs and looks to Gilbert. 

“He's your son, not mine.”

“Mére!” Georges shouts surprised but Philip continues to cackle. 

“Shit dude, my mom hasn’t even disowned me yet!” Elizabeth rolls her eyes. 

“Keep talking and I will.” She mumbles under her breath.  Theodosia laughs and bumps Gilbert with her hip, knocking her away from the fridge. He smirks in her general direction, but complies.  

“You’re free to roam the property.  Monticello is only two hours away Thomas.” George states making up plates. 

Surprisingly Thomas shakes his head. 

“No… not yet, maybe this weekend.” He answers.  The room goes quiet and he rolls his eyes, frustrated that everyone thinks he wants to return there.  He does, but doing so makes him look into who he was before, a man he is not proud of today. 

Sarah slips into the open seat next to him knocking knees.  She understands.

She’s always understood, always been able to break into his mind and sort the mess of anxious thoughts. She did it when Martha died, when the colonies lost the war, when word that Lafayette and other aides to camp had been killed.  

“Thomas,” Her voice breaks through his thoughts and he glances to her.  She smiles kindly and he smiles back with closed lips. 

“Thanks,” He rubs his thumb over her knee. 

A knock sounds on the door before Margarita and Maria enter, both giggly with messy buns and a box of donuts. 

“We have donuts!” Margarita shouts.  A thud is heard upstairs a moment later before laughter and pounding footsteps sound.  Alex and John run down the stairs, both without shirts, but cleaned up.  A bright red hickey shines against Alex’s collarbone, and a matching one on John’s neck. 

They slide to a stop next to Margarita and Alex presses a kiss to her temple. 

“Thanks sis,” She rolls her eyes but knows she won’t be able to ditch the nickname. 

“Yeah, yeah.  Eat your donut you horney bastard.” Alex feigns hurt but John laughs knocking shoulders with his boyfriend. 

“Damn. Why did I never meet her before?”

“Because I was dead? I died really young, yellow fever a month after ‘liza and Alex married.” 

“Shit.” John mumbles and glances between the two sisters. “Are you guys okay?” He asks and Elizabeth huffs when said sister in question plops her entire weight on her lap. 

“Just peachy.” Elizabeth mumbles but cracks a smile. 

“You know speaking of sisters, what happened to Angelica?” Margarita asks. George clears his throat and everyone directs their attention to him. 

“Angelica Church went to London with her husband. They ended up living normal lives until King George discovered them.  They ran to France, but after that I couldn’t find anything. I assume they probably died during the revolution there.” 

Margarita glances quickly to her sister who nods. 

“We’ll find her.” Elizabeth promises in hushed tones before throwing a glance to Adrienne. “Did you,” 

“I didn’t hear anything… Sarah?” 

“Not that I remember. I never met Angelica,” Sarah says and Thomas speaks up. 

“She visited us in France once, Sarah was out with the children.  She had heard Lafayette and the others’ had died and wanted to tell us before word got out.” He wets his lips and George interrupts. 

“Let’s not worry about that right now.” John snorts, Alex glares and Elizabeth sighs. 

“You boys are the worst.” Alexander wraps an arm around her shoulders and squeezes her tight. 

“You love me,” He teases.  She sighs, but a smile cracks wrapping an arm around his waist. 

“Yeah I do.” 

“So sorry to break up the love fest, but Maria and I are leaving.  We have to pick up some stuff.” Margarita calls slipping from her sister’s lap.

“What kind of stuff?” Elizabeth voices.

“Important stuff.” 

“Crafts.” Maria states. Margarita groans. 

“Maria,” 

“Shush love.” She presses a kiss to her cheek. “Margarita here likes to crochet and stuff for the women’s shelter. The directors love her,” Margarita leans into her girlfriend and rolls her eyes, a grin breaking across her face. 

“Okay babe, shush it.  Let’s go I think the Yarn Barn has a sale today!” Maria laughs and waves back to them calling goodbye before stepping out the door. Once it clicks shut, silence falls over the room until Georges kicks Philips shin. 

“Wanna explore DC?” He asks and Philip shrugs, thinking for a moment, and swallowing his coffee. 

“Eh,” He voices and Georges raises and eyebrow.  “We can, but if we do we need to run by the mall. There’s a hole in my converse.” 

“Finally.  You gonna toss them?” Georges mumbles and Philip glares, but it’s a friendly glare that both know to not take seriously. 

“Just for that no.”

“Amour they stink!  Toss them already,” Georges groans and Philip barks a laugh, a smile breaking across his face. 

“Nope, I’ll hang them right off the bed post, right next to your face.” 

“Merde,”

“Well then.” Gilbert comments placing his cup down.  John pulls himself onto the counter next the frenchman, Alex slipping into his spot on Gilbert’s other side. 

“How do you feel cuñado?” Alex teases pushing at Gilbert.  He rolls his eyes and pushes back at Alex. 

“Shush.  Mon fils is old enough to think for themselves.” Gilbert responds head high.  Georges smirks and George sighs.

“Come on dad…. Dads?” Georges asks and exchanges glances with Philip, who just shrugs. George looks to Gilbert, begging him to decide.

“Dads… Cheri?” Gilbert says and looks to Adrienne who nods, cupping her hands around her mug. 

“Dads. But I’m still your mother.” Adrienne clarifies. 

“Are you sure?” Gilbert asks quietly, making Alex and John snicker. “Oh shut up!  You two and Elizabeth still need to clarify what you are to Philip!” He snaps, smacking both of them in the arms. 

“Dad 1.” Alex shouts, much to Gilbert’s displeasure.

“Dad 2.” John chimes in just as loud.  Philip laughs and Elizabeth sigh. 

“You two are too much for me.  Adrienne, Sarah, do you want to run to the store with me?” She asks and the two girls smile at each other.

“Isn’t there a paper store in town?” Adrienne asks as Sarah checks her bank with her phone. 

“I’ve still got 50 dollars for Muji, let’s go!” She shouts and Adrienne laughs grabbing her hand. 

“Come on!  I’ll do you hair if you let me borrow that top you bought last weekend.” She pleads.  Sarah sighs and presses a kiss to Thomas’s cheek as she’s drug upstairs. 

“I’ll be back before our date!” She calls, causing him to chuckle. Elizabeth stands as well and smiles. Theo stands with a smile and follows the two girls upstairs to get ready to leave as well. 

“I’ll go with them. See you later boys, Philip.” She presses a kiss to Philips hair and he blushes trying to scramble away. 

“Mom,” He whines and Georges nudges him. 

“Oh shush.  We should head out too.  I think there’s a gym nearby with our preferences.”  He teases making Philip smile a wide open mouthed smile. 

“Really! What are we doing, come on!” He shouts and grabs his hand pulling him to a standing position and dragging him back towards their room. 

“Okay, okay, I’m coming mon chou,” Alex snickers at the french and Gilbert rolls his eyes watching his son run off.  

“What? Spanish has no odd terms of endearment mon ami?” Gilbert teases. 

“Nothing like that.  My cabbage?” He teases.  

“Oh shush Alex.  Come on let’s go explore.  Wasn’t your honeymoon house across the potomac?” He asks and Alex blushes a red color. 

“Of fuck you,” He grumbles.  John laughs and presses a kiss to Alex’s mouth. He smiles and squeezes John’s shoulder. 

“Netflix? Heard they updated How to Get Away With Murder,” John teases and Alex laughs. 

“Come on then!” he calls and they disappear, leaving only Gilbert, Washington and Thomas. They sit in silence, Thomas watching his former general and leader drink coffee and his friend make french toast. Gilbert breaks the silence first. 

“So.” He starts turning and sliding a plate with three pieces of the sweet toast towards him.  “Sally Hemings huh.  What are you going to do with that?” He asks and Thomas shrugs grabbing a fork and picking at the food. 

“You know… I just want her happy.  And she wants me, for some reason.  I’m just going to go with it you know.” He says and takes a bite, vanilla and cinnamon flooding his taste buds. 

Gilbert nods and sits opposite of him cutting into his own french toast. “I understand, but will the rest of the world?” He asks making Thomas pause.

“What do you mean?” He asks setting his fork down. 

“I mean the world believes you have abused our dear Sally.  I know that is incorrect, you wouldn’t dream of hurting her.  But the world will say what it wants and it may not be pretty.” He states slowly.  Thomas nods going back to his breakfast. 

“I know. But I want to see if we are meant to be and work past this.” He says softly. “I never laid a hand on her, always watched out for her.  Her and Patsy kept me sane.” He mumbles and rubs a hand across his face, pushing aside the memories. The overwhelming guilt it was his fault Martha died, everything happening at once.  

_ “Papa? Papa open the door,” He couldn’t move. Everything hurt and felt like it was suction cupped to the ground, his heart resting like a stone in his belly.  His dueling pistols lay at his knees, so tempting.   _

_ “Join her, join her!” they call to him and he reaches for one as the door is thrown open.  Sally glances to him sadly dressed in black, and looking too much like Martha.  _

_ “Papa! Stop please don’t do it,” Patsy cries out and crawls into his arms. “We all miss her,” She mumbles and Thomas wills his arms to move.  They wrap around his daughter and he presses a cheek to her red hair.  _

_ “Oh Patsy,”  _

He blinks away the memory and breathes deep.  This isn’t normal. 

“Mon cher,” Gilbert comments and he see’s him for a moment as he was.  A lanky blonde frenchman who stumbled over his words and followed around Washington like a puppy. 

He sighs and locks eyes with Gilbert. 

“I just want to make things right.  I don’t want to be the suicidal, anxiety wracked father who couldn’t function for weeks at a time.” he confesses. Gilbert nods knowingly. 

“I wasn’t there for Georges.  Bless Sarah’s heart, she raised him better than I ever could have.” He comments. George places a hand on his shoulder and rubs the tense muscles. 

“You would’ve been a wonderful father Gil, and you will be a wonderful father.  Life has given us a second chance to prove to the world we are more than we were perceived.” He states.  Gilbert chuckles and leans back into his chair glancing at George with more admiration than thought possible in a human. 

“You sound very nostalgic mon cher.  Feeling like a general again non?” He teases and George smiles at him. 

“Posibly.  We can talk later.” He states as thundering footsteps are heard and the boys run down with sweatpants and t-shirts on, holding their hair back and laughing. The girls follow giggling with Sarah in the middle showing Adrienne and Elizabeth a picture. 

“So pretty!  You can do that non?” Adrienne asks pointing to a specific picture.

“Of course! Give me time after we get back and I’ll have it done before dinner,” Elizabeth states tracing a pattern in the air by her hip with a single finger. 

“Come on! You heard the dude on the phone we’ve got half an hour to get there!” Philip calls as Georges moves to fill a water bottle. 

“You won’t make it twenty minutes if you’re dehydrated.  Now give me time or you’ll be in the hospital.” He states making Elizabeth glance concerned to her son. 

“What are you two planning on doing anyways?” She asks.  

“Kick boxing! Georges got me started, what was it three years ago?”

“Yeah the week after I kicked Calvin’s ass and got both of us expelled.” He laughs. Philip laughs as well and tosses a balled up sock at his head. 

“Come on! This is the best instructor in the state, and I’m not missing it because you want your frufru lemon mint water.” He says and Georges sighs pulling his dreads up into a controlled mess. 

“I’m coming calm mon chou.” 

“I’m not your fucking cabbage,” Philip grumbles and Georges laughs loudly wrapping an arm around his shoulders as they walk from the house.  The girls say their goodbyes, Sarah pressing a kiss to Thomas’s temple before leaving.  

George and Gilbert dismiss themselves to their room and Hercules only leaves his room at one point to ask where Alex and John were, and then proceeds to go join them in their room watching Netflix. 

He’s alone with his thoughts. 

He mulls over a lot of things.  Sally, Martha, the Rebellion - No. The Revolution. Reincarnation theory as dull as that may be at times. He contemplates anything that crosses his mind as Judge Judy rules in favor for various defenses. 

Why now? The thought crosses his mind as he drops another corn chip into his mouth. Why was he brought back now, when he shouldn’t have came back.  Death was welcomed with open arms last time; his throbbing painful stub of a hand had been seeping pus and other fluids for days, it was no surprise his fever had spiked. He doesn’t remember much, his brain blocking out the memories. 

Just dark, pain, and then…. Nothing.  Next thing he remembers is his father telling him his mother is pregnant, and him asking what that meant.  After the explanation he asked if mommy ate his little sister. 

She died two years later from childhood cancer. 

Thomas rubs his eyes before breathing out.  _ Don’t worry about that, she’s happier now. No pain _ . 

He maneuvers himself back into a comfortable position before the changing the channel looking for something else to numb his mind with. He settles on daytime TV, letting it settle for background noise. His mind wanders back to 1776. 

He wrote the Declaration of Independence, the rallying cry for the Rebels- Patriots. They weren’t rebels, they were people fighting for their voice to be heard. And even today the colonies are still seen as a stain on the British Empire.  The unruly black sheep in the family.  If he was given the chance to make it right, to finally get the freedom they deserve, would he take it? 

His thoughts are cut short by high pitched laughter and girls’ voices floating inside the mansion. 

They come into the living room and Sarah smiles at Thomas as they all sit down and sort out their purchases, an occasional comment about how much one of them liked something.  Adrienne quickly changes her horseshoe septum piercing to a gold ornate ring with a turquoise gem, as Sarah rubs concealer into her jaw asking Theodosia if she’s positive this matches her skin tone.  Elizabeth pulls out a thick journal and a set of pens and uncaps one with her teeth as she starts to write a quote in her slow firm hand. Thomas catches eye of it. 

_ You should not ha _

He doesn’t need to know the rest of the quote to know Alexander wrote or said it to her at one point. 

Theodosia makes a comment that pulls him from his thoughts. 

“Thomas, when do you have to be back at work?” He sits up and scratches his beard. 

Technically until the end of the month, but he can push for longer. “I told the firm till the end of the month.  Why?” He asks catching sight of Sarah’s anxious glance. Adrienne grabs her hand rubbing the bicolored skin soothingly. 

“Just wondering. Hercules has to go back to work then too.” 

“And you plan to join him?” He asks and Theo shrugs fingering the edge of a new sweater. 

“Maybe.  I’ve grown to enjoy the theater. And he’s nice company.” She states and Sarah smiles. 

“Oui, but have you lived with mon cheri? Very messy.” Adrienne teases.  Sarah scoffs. 

“Please, lets not go back to show week again? You left your shoes on the couch!  And then called me in the middle of a stream!” 

“Hey that was good vlog material,” She comments and Sarah rolls her eyes but smiles. 

“Every time you left for the next week I got a hundred tweets asking if you remembered everything.” She comments foundly. 

“How many followers do you have?” Thomas asks jumping into the conversation. Sarah blushes and Adrienne laughs brightly. 

“She just broke 500 thousand Sunday night. Her fans are amazing.” She comments and Sarah blushes a deeper color. He smiles at her. 

“That’s cool tho. I think I’ve got maybe 500, all of them people from uni and the firm.” He says off handedly.  He’s lame, and he’ll be the first person to admit it.  The front door opens again and Philip and Georges’s booming voices are heard.  They pass through the living room, the scent of boy drifting behind them.  Elizabeth covers her nose and calls out to them.

“I hope you two plan on showering, because you reak.” Adrienne laughs, then nudges Sarah. 

“Mon cher, did you pack that blue dress?” She asks brightly. 

“No why?” 

“You’ll have to borrow my red one.  Come on you have a date tonight!” She giggles and pulls her to the stairs, their heads now bent together, gossiping.  

Elizabeth smiles after them before going back to her work. She traces the edges of the letters with a thinner pen and pouts for a moment before adding more embellishments. 

“How is she?” Thomas asks.  Theodosia laughs quietly. 

“She’s wonderful Thomas. And don’t screw up with her, she cares way too much about you and your opinion.” She says and Elizabeth nods as the front door opens again. 

“I”m back! With more food!” Margarita shouts causing Maria to laugh and loop an arm around her waist.  They both giggle together as she drops the food on the counter. A moment later the men in the house are running to the kitchen, even George. Philip pokes in as well a towel around his waist and his hair wet. 

“Thanks,” Alex comments reaching into the bag and pulling out for burritos. “Taco Bell or Chipotle?” He asks handing John and Elizabeth a burrito. 

“Chipotle. By the way did you know there's a five guys in town?” She asks bumping hips with Philip as she reaches for her drink. 

“Must be new,” Thomas states as he moves to the kitchen to grab his food. Georges slides into the kitchen, towel being held up by his hand as he grabs a burrito bumping his hip on the counter. 

“Fuck!” He shouts and Philip laughs loudly doubling over. 

“Dumbass!” He cackles and Gilbert can't help but laugh as well. 

“Go get dressed you two,” Elizabeth giggles watching the two bump and bruise themselves more as they start to push and shove. 

Georges ignores her and grabs Philip and puts him in a headlock holding him there while laughing. 

“Uncle! Uncle! You win!” He shouts and Georges smiles kindly releasing him. He spins round and and pouts but Georges kisses him sweetly. 

“Je t’aime” He says softly and presses another kiss to his nose.  Philip smiles before flicking him in the nose and running off to get dressed. Georges follows him back to their room laughing knocking hips so domestically, it’s heartbreaking.  The boys, Maria, and the two previously Schuyler’s stand around the counter laughing and joking.  George appears more tense than normal, but it has to be nerve wracking, being in the same place he use to own people, people of his own skin, and one of the girls he could’ve owned is upstairs laughing and giggling with her friend who is his partner’s ex wife. 

It’s all quite confusing and overwhelming. 

They talk about nonsensical things, like that one exam Alexander spent three days studying for and it was two essay questions, or the time the group of them agreed to go to the beach during Spring Break, and all that happened was the car broke down in South Carolina and John got them around from past knowledge of street names. 

The stupid stuff they smile at and laugh about till their stomachs hurt. Just as they finish the guac and chips, and complaining about the price, Sarah walks down stairs with Adrienne behind her, and she’s stunning.  The red dress isn’t overdone, just a simple plain dress with a gold geometric necklace hanging between her breasts.

He’s staring and he knows it. She smiles at him meekly, and brushes some curls from her face, the mound of her small afro piled on top of her head. She smiles kindly at him and Alex snickers elbowing him in the side. 

Georges and Philip emerge from the direction of their room at that moment and calls for attention as Thomas stands to go get dressed. 

“Actually… there was something I wanted to talk about.” He calls.  Thomas slowly sits back on the barstool, Sarah falling into place beside him, Adrienne holding her hand loosely. 

“Sir,” Alex interjects anxiously.  John rubs his waist watching George just as nervous. 

“All of you were prominent figures, and I need your honest opinion on re engaging in rebellion.” 

“Sir!” Alex steps back from the table hands quivering. “We already talked about this!  We can’t, we’ve died once, but again!” 

“Alexander.” George warns and in an instant the scene changes from the kitchen of Mount Vernon, to a tent at Valley Forge, the aides to camp surrounding the General and bastard immigrant charging the scene. John and Gilbert sense the change and stand straighter. 

“Sir!” he pleads again.

“Mon ami, please hear him out. This country is going to shit, merde, with the people in office that are now the plans-”

“Will keep you safe!  We have a stable government and the more I’ve thought about it the more I want to back out.  Gil… Damnit, Lafayette I can’t do this again! I lost everything!” 

“And so did I,” He leans across the counter, eye contact level with Alex. “Losing not only a son but a daughter is more painful than you could know Alexander. I know your thoughts like they were my own.” 

“Then you know how much I can’t do this.” he bites back. Georges and Philip stand closer together. They’ve never had to hear this, their birth families being from a more recent generation than them. 

“This is our chance!  You only talked of revolution before, what happened?” John asks stepping so Alex can look him full on, ratty tee from a trip to NYC freshman year, and sweatpants on full display. 

“I realized I have a son who I never met.” He comments quietly looking to Philip briefly. “And I can’t make him spend another lifetime without knowing his father.” He locks eyes with John. “Don’t you understand?” 

“I do,” he responds quickly. “But ask him what he thinks.” The room goes silent, the only prominent sound being Alex’s uneven breathing and his hand moving to rub his neck. 

“Philippe?” Georges breathes. The younger breathes deep and meets eyes with his father. 

“I don’t have a dad.  He’s dead, died in a DUI crash.  My mom’s an alcoholic, haven’t talked to her since I went to college. If you want to do this, I understand, and if you don’t I also understand.” Alex laughs his hand still rubbing his neck anxiously.  Elizabeth grabs his wrist and rubs a thumb across his knuckles. 

“Alex,” 

“I can’t die again Betsey,” He mumbles. “You don’t know what it’s like to know you’re dying and there’s nothing to do to stop it.” he breathes deep and John rubs his shoulder and says something quietly, before leading them both away. 

George watches them walk off and the quiet murmuring from the hall is cut off when they walk out of the mansion. 

“Shit.” He mumbles. Gilbert runs a finger over his knuckles. 

“It’s okay, you know how he gets.” Gilbert comments. Sarah rubs Thomas’s shoulder. 

“Is he going to be okay?” She asks and Gilbert nods. 

“Anxiety gets to him worse than anyone else…” Gilbert comments and leans his arms on the counter and runs a hand through his hair. 

“Didn’t he... “ Philip asks quietly. 

“Yes.” Elizabeth says.  “He threw himself off the fucking platform because he… he’s insane but I love him.” She see’s the two boys move outside the window before Alex says something and John nods stripping his shirt, like some unspoken ritual. She looks away, feeling like she’s intruding on some intimate secret.  

“He’ll be fine mon cher,” Gilbert says and breathes low. “He hasn’t used that name for years, he’s scared.” He settles.  George leans on the counter behind him, arms crossed as he contemplates for a moment. His tongue flicks out to wet his lips before he speaks.

“Take the next couple days to think about it. I understand if you would want to back out.” He states slowly.  He’s thought about this.  

A shout is heard from outside from Alex. “Otra Vez!” Philip raises an eyebrow, leaning into Georges. They’re incredibly tactile, pushing the boundaries constantly. 

“You speak spanish?” George asks casually. 

“My mom’s Puerto Rican, grew up with it.” He comments off handedly. “What are they doing?” He asks peering around the grand pillar. 

“Wrestling. It's how they get their anxious energy off.” Thomas adds. Philip nods leaning back into his spot next to Georges. 

“Take the night to think about it. Gilbert,” George states and Gilbert looks back to him. “We have reservations for 6:30 tonight. Do you still want to go?” He asks. 

“Oui, give me some time to get ready.” He comments. 

“Thomas,” Sarah starts and he nods standing. 

“15 minutes and I'll be down,” he presses a kiss to her cheek before disappearing upstairs. 

They leave in 20, Alex and John come back in sweaty, bruised but much less angry in an hour, and Margarita and Maria leave two hours after that. There wasn't anything left to do for the night, and by the time Thomas and Sally return, buzzed on champagne, and giggling about something, it's 10:30. 

The next morning nothing changed. Alex actively avoids George especially when he calls for him by name. So much more could go wrong, than could go right. Philip is the only person other than John and Elizabeth whom he will talk to and he's completely honest with him. 

“Philip I died not knowing you. I finally know my son, and this is lot I'm given? This or death again? I have you, I have Betsey and I can love John without fear.” He wraps his fingers around his coffee mug. John snickers from the stove and Alex flicks a wad of paper at the back of his neck. Bruises show on his biceps and ribs, but nothing too serious. John's without a shirt, and he's about as well off as Alex is. 

“I know dad…. Alex. But ever since my revelation I wanted to meet you, see who my reckless dad who threw himself off the gallows was. I wanted to meet him, not some guy who's scared to fight for what they believed in.” The door cracks open from the garage and Georges walks in with two coffees and Taco Bell. 

“Look what I got!” He teases holding the bag temptingly from his fingers. 

“Sweet! Thanks dude I love you,” he says taking the bag and kissing his mouth quickly. Georges smiles and ruffles his hair. 

“I'll be getting changed, we’re still going to the gym later right?” He asks carelessly. 

Yeah sure,” he comments waving him off with a smile. Digging into the bag he pulls out two tacos and starts to eat. He takes one bite before looking back to Alex. “You’re scared. I am too. But this can work. Just don’t wimp out because you’re scared it could end bad.  Just because a plane could fall out of the sky doesn’t mean you never leave your house.” he comments and picks up a piece of cheese that fell and shoves it in his mouth. 

“It’s different for us,” John says flipping the grilled cheese onto the plate. “We knew we were going to die, and there was nothing we could do.  The last thing we were able to say to each other…” He pauses letting Alex urge him on. “The last thing we said was if we somehow survive we were going to grab Betsey and go to Europe and live in the mountains. We knew we weren’t going to survive, and all he thought of was you and Elizabeth.” He turns and slides Alex the sandwich with a domestic smile. 

They sit in silence for a moment, the two eating through their meal, John being impatient, finished his sandwich while he was cooking Alex’s. Philip breaks it first. 

“You know… I never held a grudge after I had my revelation.  Like you had a job to do and the English were shitty.  They didn’t need to kill ya,” He mumbles and takes a rather aggressive bite of his taco, shell cracking and dropping lettuce and cheese. 

“When did you have your revelation?” Alex asks.  He’s later for their group, not as late as Thomas, but senior year is late. 

“Four years ago.” He says softly and Alex looks over his son.  He’s young, but how young?  His revelation is recent, and he was a baby when he died, there had to be so many questions.  

“I’m sorry,” He replies softly.  

“What?”

“I’m sorry you didn’t have any help, and because of something stupid I did you didn’t have a strong base for a revelation.” Philip waves him off.

“You’re saying this like you single handedly fucked up the Rebellion.” He smirks around his taco dripping grease down his chin before he frantically wipes it off. 

“I feel like shit about it.”

“Desiderium?” Philip asks.  The room is silent for a moment before Alex speaks. 

“Officially no.  But the signs are there.  Last time I went to a psyc they tried to put me on meds for anxiety and shit.  They only fucked me up, so I just manage it.” He comments and rubs his neck before John pulls his hand away. 

“Alexander,” He says softly and Alex nods. 

“Sorry,” he breathes and holds his head in one hand. “I just want to make this right.  You deserve better than me as a father.” 

“Don’t worry your only competition is a drunk who’s been dead since I was 5.” Philip comments offhandedly.  

“Shit, are you okay?” John asks concern spreading across his face. Philip just laughs and waves him off. 

“It’s been years.  I don’t even remember him sober.” He comments with a roll of the eyes before smirking at Alex. “Come on don’t give me the pity talk.  He was shit, I’m better off without him around.”

“Yeah,” Alex says and breathes low in his chest. He’s about to speak again when George enters the room, causing Alex to instantly fall silent. George doesn’t notice, but Gilbert does. 

“Ami,” He says with a sigh. Alex rolls his eyes but stubbornly keeps his mouth shut. “Alex-”

“He’s not going to talk Gilbert.” George comments blandly.  Alex rolls his eyes, but doesn’t snip back.  It’s childish, but Alexander isn’t the most mature. 

“Alex,” John mumbled warningly. Alex ignores him and goes back to finishing his sandwich. 

“Son,-”

“Don’t call me son,” Alex finally breaks whipping his head around to meet eyes with George. 

“Alexander.” He chides. 

“Don’t call me son.” He repeats. 

“Just listen to me.” He says moving to stand opposite of Alex, behind Philip. “We could fix this nation!” 

“Or die!” Alex replies just as frustrated. “We died once, I can’t do that again!” 

“You wouldn’t have to,” George adds. “If we do this right we could win,” 

“Or we could die!  Sir,” he starts and swallows. “I stand by what I said a week ago. If we do this and it’s between dying at the British’s hands or my own, I’d take my own life before they had the chance.”

“Alexander!” John snaps and stands up frantic. “You can’t please you wouldn’t leave us here alone,” 

“John I can’t hang again!” He replies his hand resting on his neck, no movement just pressure. “We have each other now and you want to go to war? With a country that would completely destroy us given the chance, by the way.”

“How do you think any of us feel when you say that!  You’d rather commit suicide than die honorably?” 

“Honor is not hanging by a rope!”

“Honor is sticking around.” Philip comments. “Alex, you were just saying how you were so mad at yourself for getting killed the first time before I was born, and now you’re saying suicide is on the table.” 

“You don’t-”

“Understand.  Yeah I don’t, not like this.  But I know what it’s like to look competition in the eyes and know they’ve knocked boys twice your size out with a single punch.” He retorts.  He leans back and breathes deep. “I just want normalcy.” He says sitting down defeated as Georges walks in the room. 

“Uh, did I miss something?” He asks and Philip brushes his comment off. 

“No, ignore this.” He comments. 

Alex leans back in his seat for a moment as he thinks. He could say fuck it and run home to Margot and Brielle or stay here where they are condemning themselves to death. He knows it’s worth it, but he just wants a normal life for once.  It was fine till he got his revelation. Alex watches them and breathes out. 

“Son,” 

“Don’t…” he sighs. “Sir,”

“Do you want to do this? You can back out right now, no hard feelings.” George presses. 

Alex wets his lips and speaks before his brain can catch up to his mouth.  He prays he won’t regret it. 

“I’m in.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me on tumblr @weehawken-dawngunsdrawn


	6. 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA GUESS WHOS BACK  
> sorry this went on a hiatus, but school became too much and I had to focus there and not here. Thankfully tho I finished and now it's summer and updates will be more predictable... ish. I can't follow a schedule, but I have goals so :)   
> Thank you for sticking around and reading and I'll shut up so you can get some good fic. 
> 
> NOTE: head the new tag. I don't ship Thomas and Sally. We only know what we are told, which is Thomas Jefferson was a slavemaster and Sally Hemings was his slave. Despite whether he loved her or not, he didn't do everything he could've to show he loves her and respects her (like idk set her free maybe?). I know both sides of the debate, and I'm doing what I'm doing to prove a point. All the founders historically are assholes. Don't confuse that with their stage interpretations.

The floor of the living room of Mount Vernon is covered in scattered papers with two large whiteboard in front of them. Watkins is sitting on the couch flipping through pages of research, while Alex, John and Gilbert are sprawled out in front of a whiteboard, ideas being written down faster than John and Gilbert can finish their thoughts. Hercules and Cato are hunched over a computer, and the girls are collected around the coffee table with three computers.  

“Hercules, do you want your handle to be Disney_God or Hercules_Mullimans?” Theodosia asks making the man snort. 

“Really? I Mullimans?” He asks and shakes his head Cato scrolling down a page and reading quickly. “Use Hunkules,” He instructs and points out a phrase on the article. Theodosia rolls her eyes but types in the name anyways, before sending him a text with his login. 

“How many more?” George asks as the front door opens. 

“Alex, John, Philip and Georges,” Elizabeth says scanning the list next to her.  Margarita nods and quickly types in someone’s information before speaking up. 

“What do you want for your handle Alex?” Elizabeth calls as she clicks through the account set ups. 

“A dot ham was bi all one word.” He calls quickly, making John and Gilbert snort and laugh. 

“What finally coming out of the closet mon ami?” Gilbert teases nudging him with his shoulder. Alex rolls his eyes and shoves him back. 

“Don’t make me shove you in the Potomac again.” He responds without missing a beat.  John snickers grabbing his fingers and squeezing. 

“I’m texting you the login details right now,” Elizabeth says and smiles kindly at Philip when he drops the food on the table. “Thank you,” She says and grabs the burgers passing them around.  It’s been 2 days since Alex agreed to help.

2 days and no idea on what to do. They can’t actually do something dangerous, because casualties is something they want to avoid. They can’t go with too small of an idea or they won’t gather enough attention.  They need something. 

Maria leans away from the table relaxing for a moment.  She scrolls through her pinterest feed, liking occasional posts and she snorts at a bath bomb DIY. Glitter now? Really? 

“What?” Margarita asks looking over her shoulder. “Glitter bath bombs? Really? Who makes these ideas?” She comments.  The buzz of the room doesn’t lesson but Alex goes silent, thinking in that way only he does with forty five thoughts running through his mind with one string connecting them.  

“Glitter. Bath bombs.  I know what we can do!” He shouts and shifts to sit on his knees.  He steals the marker John was using to doodle to start writing out his thoughts. Half the words are illegible but the decipherable ones are clear.

Glitter bombs in New York City. Hashtags. Non lethal.

“Son,” 

“Don’t call me son,” Alex comments right on beat as he leans back. “Glitter bombs.  In a pressure cooker.  We can do it.  It’s non lethal and if we attached slips of paper with hashtags we could get word spread that we want a revolution.  We could do this!” He shouts leaning back to rest his weight on the balls of his feet. 

The room is silent no one speaking up. The idea is brilliant if they want attention, but awful if they put it at the wrong time. Thomas is the first one to speak. 

“Glitter bombs? Like that vine prank? Alexander that's the craziest thing I've heard you say, and you helped with my capstone.” He comments, referring to his final senior project. 

“No. Like glitter cannons. But we can't get our hands on those, trust me I've looked for other reasons. But this. This could work.” He says the images of a won revolution already dancing behind his eyes. 

“This is wonderful but you want to Glitter bomb New York?” Gilbert comments pushing himself onto his forearms so he can focus on the latino.

“City. Times Square. The city is having their arts and music festival on 45th to 50th streets. We can avoid there and no one would think we are part of the festival, let loose the glitter with hashtags and our new handles in and garner a following.” He swallows and uncaps the marker with his teeth before continuing, speaking around the cap. 

“Pressure cookers can be rigged to go off, we saw that a couple years ago,” he spits the cap out and it hits Gilbert in the shoulder. “Fill it with glitter-”

“The herpes of craft supplies,” John adds making Alex snicker. He continues to sketch a poorly drawn crockpot of some sort, with glitter and paper slips next to it. Underneath he's already writing out some media tags. 

_ TeaParty16, Revolution, RewriteHistory, BoysAreBack _

He scratches his arm as he thinks of more.  

“Alex, this is great and all but are you sure this is the way to go?” Sarah asks, leaning towards Adrienne. 

“We can’t have casualties, and unless there’s something else we can do that is drastically non-lethal, I think this is our best shot.” He says and looks to Watkins. He nods with a smirk. 

“Good thinking Hamilton.” Alex’s entire being brightens up with that comment. Hamilton.  It reminds him of a simpler time, where he smelled of ink and parchment, and the occasional mix of gunpowder. 

“Thank you sir,” he says and rubs his cheek with the back of his hand, leaving a streak of marker on his face.  John laughs lightly and smiles at Alex. 

“This is great but the pressure cooker, when it goes off, would cause damage, and how would we get how many, like four or five pressure cookers into NYC into Times Square?  We could hurt some people big time, and the lawsuits-”

“Thomas.” Sarah says grabbing his hand.  She’s still leaning against Adrienne and she smiles at him lazily. “It’s gonna be fine,”

“We could die!”

“Don’t go Alexandre on us. You have agreed, and agreed before without qualms.” Gilbert states with a frown.

“I wrote!  I didn’t plan out attacks!  I sat at a desk and wrote with Madison, who I don’t know where he is to save my life, so I’m a little anxious to say the least.” He says and sucks down a breath as he paces. 

“Do you need some alcohol?” 

“Yes,” He says without missing a beat.  “I’ll be back,” He says and disappears to the cellar.  Sarah laughs softly making the other girls laugh as well. 

“Oh Thomas,” she says and Adrienne runs her fingers through Sarah’s floofy hair. She leans into her side as Thomas comes back up with two bottles of whiskey.

“I'll pay you back George,” he and says with a sigh and a crack of the seal. He tosses it back and wets his lips. “We can't buy a glitter cannon but we can make one. The pressure Cooker has too many chances to go wrong and cause casualties.”

“And you know how to make one?” Alex commands quickly already erasing the poorly drawn slow cooker. 

“It's not hard. PVC pipe, air pressure. We can make mini ones with specific timers set and built up air pressure. It wouldn't be hard.” He comments and sits back down between George and Adrienne. “Any hardware store would have what we need.” He looks to George. “If we wanna do this,” 

“We do. Jenkins, and Lincoln go online and find bulk glitter, red white and blue.” 

Cato is already on his phone going through Amazon looking for the best price per product. He mumbles something to himself and grabs a pencil scratching down prices, and weights. 

“Girls, finish those accounts then go to the hardware store, we’ll need to get started ASAP.” He states and stands moving to the office. “Alex, Gilbert, Hercules and John come with me.” He calls.

The four stand quickly, anxious glances being passed between them.  They exit and Cato steals the computer using it to search for PVC and air pressure cannistors. The momentary silence erupts back into work loud voices.  

On the other side of the house the door to the office shuts softly, and the lock clicks.  George breathes deeply before speaking. 

“You four mean the world to me. And I needed to say this now instead of later. I’m sorry for last time, and I will do everything in my power to keep you boys alive,” His gaze rests on each of them. Alex holds his chin high, but his eyes are full as John’s and Hercules’. Gilbert has heard this speech before, in the quiet moments of the night, when they both should’ve been asleep. 

“Sir,” 

“Just let me apologize.  Since I met you boys four years ago, I’ve never apologized for letting you fight in that war.  You were all so young, and I was supposed to protect you.” 

“George.” John cuts him off.  “We knew what we were doing.  We new the minute we enlisted we could be killed, but we did anyways, and we are again.” He states proudly. 

“We know what we need to do, and we will do it.” Alexander states as he breathes low in his chest, steadying his emotions.  

“Then would you be my aide again.  If it comes to that?” George asks letting his eyes flirt over his previous aides. “You were the best aides I could have asked for, and if we go to war, I want you at my side.” The three look between themselves and Alexander speaks first. 

“Would we be able to fight,” 

“Dear god Alexander, not this conversation.” George sighs. “If I say yes would you agree to it?” He asks. Alex laughs brightly. 

“That easy? Are you getting old? Or worn down by my charmingly good looks?” George sighs. 

“More like I lack the energy to fight you on this.” He confesses making all of them laugh. 

It’s almost like old times, before the war really started and they were ignorant of everything that contributes to a war. The angry, heart broken cries that pierce the air, the blood soaking through boots till your feet are resting in the messy sick of someone, hopefully not your brother’s, the smell of parchment and ink and freshly pressed cottons.  

For a moment it’s okay. Everything could stop right now, with blood pounding in their ears with excitement, bouncing on toes, and no one could complain. 

There’s always something off tho, because that is their luck. 

\---

Aaron Brier doesn’t know anything about his past life.  No one cared enough to write him a biography, or save letters.  The only thing he knows for certain is he never was enough.

Not to be emotional, but he never fought enough, spoke enough, did enough, loved enough.  

He was always just barely enough for everything.  Theodosia, God bless her, put up with his idiocy for far too long.  Flirting with her when she obviously had a husband, marrying him, letting him run back to war, knowing the chance he would find her husband and have to kill him was high. 

She was - is an angel. The world would have to truly hate him if Theodosia was not back yet. It comes in waves, so she should be back… 

@DosiaABurr 

No…. it can’t be.  His thumb hovers over the twitter handle before tapping it, his leg bumping anxiously as he waits for it to load. The door to his apartment opens and he glances over the edge of the couch. Johnathan toes his shoes off and stretches above his head. 

“Did you know Comi is giving away produce at a discount.  I was thinking we run down there before noon and pick up a few bushels of apples, maybe a loaf of bread. It’s my week for groceries anyways-”

“Johnathan.” he cuts him off with a sigh and glances back to his phone.  The account loaded, the header a quote from him… something he said to her long ago. 

_ You have, undoubtedly, a mind superior to the contagion. _

He swallows and Johnathan leans over the back of the couch watching his phone. The name is familiar enough, and with the header, a quote no one else would know, Aaron’s almost completely convinced this is either Heaven giving him a second chance, or a cruel joke from Hell. 

“Who is that?” He asks and watches him scroll through the tweets.  Nothing much, a few retweets from Adothamwasbi.  Ham… Hamilton? It couldn’t be, but when he clicks the handle, all that loads is a series of rant tweets against the government, including threats to attack.   He raises and eyebrow as he scrolls through the feed.  Nothing convinces him it’s Hamilton more than a single tweet. 

_ @adothamwasbi : if @FatherSamuel makes one more comment about how great the king is I will hunt him down and shove that Bible up his ass.   _

If that doesn’t reek of Hamilton nothing will.  He scrolls down and looks through the rest of the tweets not surprised to see more and more comments about the King and how dreaded he is.  

“Who is that?” Johnathon comments reading over Aaron’s shoulder. 

“Possibly Alexander Hamilton,” He says and Johnathon snorts in disbelief. 

“You mean Hamilton, like one of the traitors?” He asks and Aaron shrugs. 

“Possible.  I worked with him… I think,” He comments and worries his lip.  If it’s someone he knew, let alone Hamilton, he’s uncertain how to react. If it’s really, Hamilton, and that other account is really -

“They’re back,” Johnathon cuts him off and grabs Aaron’s shoulder making him look at him.  “Dude.  They’re back.  Everyone is back.” He’s anxious, hand shaking on Aaron’s skin. “I… oh god, they’re back.” he says and Aaron grabs his hand squeezing tightly. 

He didn’t do anything before, all he was was a soldier boy.  No recognition, barely worth a cent in the world’s eyes.  His dear General was shot behind him, and now he’s just another worthless traitor.  If the world knew he was Aaron Burr, not Brier, he would be killed immediately, or so he fears. He was nothing, and he has wished for this moment a hundred times before.  Prayed that life would give him the chance to redeem himself and make a name for himself, but like this? 

He knows what he needs to do.  He knows he needs to do it.  

“Bellamy,” He says softly and Johnathon shudders wrapping his arms around Aaron’s shoulders. 

“Yes Burr?” he asks making Burr tense before relaxing into a shiver and tears slowly trail down his cheek. 

“Do we go?” He asks and Bellamy shrugs pressing a kiss to Aaron’s temple. 

“I… you decide.  Take control of your life.” He says squeezing tighter, mouth still against his temple.  He nods and swallows down his anxiety.  He needs to make a decision and soon. 

“Give me some time.  Until then… you said Comi was having a sale on produce?” he asks still holding tight to Johnathon. 

“Yeah… are you going to get up?” He asks and Aaron shrugs.  

“Can… you just sit with me.  I need to think,” He says and Johnathon climbs over the back of the couch sitting next to Aaron before he’s even finished speaking.  He smiles at Aaron kindly and wraps an arm around his shoulders. 

“Take your time,” He says and pulls him close letting the silence over take them.  He shivers and leans into Johnathon’s grip.  

He needs to decide.  And soon. 

\---

John and Alex duck as their next cannon experiment fails. The cannon shot glitter too hard and sent one of the plugs with it as well, last time it didn’t even make it out of the tube, and before that it actually fell apart as they shot it off.  And now Alex is lying on the ground covered in dirt and rubber cement and enough glitter for the rest of his life.  He grumbles and John’s hand is firm in his back squeezing softly.

“You okay?” he asks and Alex nods blowing his hair from his face. 

“Yeah, just pissed,” He grumbles watching as Philip and Georges laugh and push each other down in the mess of glitter and confetti. They wrestle for a moment, Philip pinning Georges down before the older grabs him around the waist and pulls him down and sits on his stomach pinning his hands.  They fight through the mess making each other laugh loudly, and also covering the other in enough glitter and confetti to satisfy a drag queen. Their laughter echoes across the plantation and George frowns.  

“I don’t understand.  It shouldn’t be this hard.” He comments and looks over the shared document on his phone.  “Where are we coming into trouble?” 

“It’ll work out, we just need to focus,” Gilbert says slowly and frowns as he watches the two boys fall onto their backs, spread eagle, panting. Alex shakes the glitter from his hair and walks over to the glitter cannon, grabbing the plug from the ground and looking it over.  The cement is still wet, and glitter is sticking to it. 

“You know,” Philip says from the ground.  “Maybe it’s the air pressure.  If it fell about there was a leak, and if it’s shooting off then it’s obviously too tight of a seal.” He points out and yelps laughing when Georges dumps a load of glitter down the back of his shirt.  It’s childish but Philip just retaliates by shaking it out over top of Georges making sure to rub it in his hair like a child.  

“I don’t know Pip,” Alex says slowly and Eliza sighs from where she was standing back with Adrienne and Sally.  

“Why not?  Everything else hasn’t worked.  Maybe we need some new ideas.” She shoots off and Sally smirks pulling her hair into a bun and off her neck. Adrienne hands over sunscreen, and the other two girls take the time massaging it into their skin. “Besides it’s not like we have any other ideas.  We need this done by the festival, and we have a week.” She comments becoming both frustrated with herself and the whole ordeal.  There has to be more they’re not doing, but she can’t figure it out.  

Alex frowns and rubs his neck frustrated with himself as he turns the plug over in his hands.  John is beside him and pulls his hand away from his neck and tugs him back. 

“Come on, we all need a break,” He says and swallows back his own nerves. He’s worried, if this doesn’t work out then they have nothing. “I’ll head out-”

“Actually do you care if I make the food run?” He asks feeling the heavy weight of his phone in his pocket.  

“Yeah… Chinese?” He asks and Alex nods obviously distracted.  Quiet murmurs of agreement flow through the yard and after grabbing money he’s off like a bullet to the cars and he slips in starting it quickly, hands shaking.  At the end of the driveway he pulls his phone out and sends a quick text. 

**Alex:** can i call?

**Mama:** of course

**Mama:** is everything okay? 

Alex just hits the call button and it takes two rings for her to answer.  

“Alexander are you okay? What’s going on? Where are you?” She asks and Alex can’t stop the little grin. She’s still his mama despite everything. 

“I’m fine, just needed to talk to someone.” He says softly.  She understands almost immediately. Her son is scared. 

“What’s wrong is everything okay?” She asks and Alex shrugs even though she can’t see. 

“I’m just overwhelmed… a lot has happened.” He says and wets his lips before diving into the details.  Philip is home, and so is Georges, they don’t have a location yet on Francis previously Laurens, or any of the other Lafayette children. Yes Eliza and John are well, no he hasn’t found anything out about his estranged brother, not that he would want to, or any other details from before.  He’s been accepted to the grad school of his choice, but he’s not sure if he’s still going to go right away.  It’s nerve wracking for Alexander, and his voice shakes as he tells his mother his fear. 

They’re not going to win. He’s going to waste not only one, but two lives, on a wasteful revolution, that won’t do anything but slander his name further.  His heart clenches and he smiles to himself, munching on dinner, and absolutely not stealing any of the Crab Ragoon John ordered. And for a bit he’s happy and pleased and when he pulls into the driveway, he’s still smiling as he talks to Margot and Brielle, because of course they need to hear from their big brother.  

“Awex! Please come home.  We miss you,” Brielle shouts and Alex grins as the two girls fight over the phone.  They’re shouting and yelling, vying for attention before he speaks up.

“You know, if you two keep fighting I won’t bring anything back home,” He says as he enters the house balancing the bags of food in his hand. 

“No! Pweaz don’t Awex!” Margot shouts only echoed by her sister. 

“We miss you hermano!” 

“And I miss you two too. I’ll be home at some point to visit… I promise.” He says and mouths family when Philip gives him a concerned look.  

“Pweaz!  Mama said we ah goin to pwee school soon!” Margot says and he laughs when Brielle grabs the phone. 

“Mama said you found another boy!” she shouts and Alex rolls his eyes. “Are you dating him? Is he like John?” she demands to know just like a child.  The whole answer, everything about the answer, and right now. If he wasn’t gagging he would be envisioning her sitting there arms crossed. But instead he’s gagging because that boy, is his son. 

“Brielle give the phone back to mama,” He says and when his mother is back, and philip is slowly working through his rice Alex speaks. “I disown the twins. They just asked if this “new boy is like John”.  Ie. am I dating him.  The new boy is my son mama.” Philip snorts and Alex rolls his eyes as his mother laughs loudly. 

“You call you mom mama.” Philip says and Alex tosses a fortune cookie at him. 

“And you’re afraid to say daddy because our generation screwed it up.” He retorts and Philip blushes hot, embarrassed. 

“You better be talking to Philip… can I talk to him-” 

“Alex!  It worked!  We fucking fixed it!” John shouts with Herc and Gilbert running in after them. 

“You what!  It works. Holy shit, mom I’ll call you later!” He hangs up and grabs Philip dragging him with him outside.  The sky is raining down confetti as the next two cannons go off and while they all are going to regret this later when they are rinsing glitter from their hair and clothes, they all just cheer and laugh, couples and friends grabbing each other and shaking them excited for the revelation. 

Now they just need to make another round for New York, and they’re good to go. 

\---

“Dr. Michelson we need you in OR 2, head laceration and internal bleed.  Possibly gang related, we have security on the lookout.” 

This is normal.  Working in the Bronx’s largest Hospital he’s seen Dr. James Michelson has seen his fair share of gang violence, domestic abuse, successful cancer treatments, births, deaths.  Any stage of life, he’s seen it, and probably seen it 40 other times, in the 60 different ways. This is just the normal. 

“Push two units of blood, prep him for surgery.  Do we have the knife?”

“Uh…” 

“Do we have the knife! God damnit this isn’t the time to pussy foot around!” he snaps and grabs the charts from the nurse as he speed walks down the hall to OR prep. 

“It’s…. In him.” 

“For fucks sake.” James grumbles.  This was also normal. “Well!  Get him a CAT scan!  I have another OR I need to get to.  Get back to me when the results are in.  Patterson, Mckinley, you’re mine.  OR 2 be prepped and ready in 10 minutes or you’re off the case.” He shouts to the interns and the jump to follow him like dogs. “The rest of you get to the ER and deal with the other victims.   Find out anything you can.” He’s already slipping into his surgical mindset.  He’ll have to get the knife out, obviously, but if there’s internal damage, because why wouldn’t there be, that will need attention.  And that head laceration.  If it’s deep there will need to be a head MRI, and that will need attention.  Who’s on plastics tonight? Jackson?

“Dr. Michelson!” A nurse shouts and he glances over his shoulder, his attention split between now and the to be. “We have a possible amputee coming through. We need all surgeons down in the pit.” the BSN calls and James stares before groaning and shoving the charts off.  

“Call Ambruster to take care of the stabbing until I can get there,” He snaps and follows the BSN.  God what else could go wrong today.  His thigh is sore, where the prosthetic attaches and he needs a moment to sit and readjust it. He rubs his face and follows them down to the pit, holding trauma bays 1 through 5. Entering he catches sight of the other doctors huddled around a gurney with a young man moaning and rolling around. 

“What’s going on?” he asks stepping up to the situation. The man’s hand is partially severed, muscles and sinew a mess among blood that drips onto the perfect tiles. 

“Christopher Edwards. His girlfriend’s brother thought he was raping her, and attempted to chop off his hand.” The Resident Director states sadly. 

“And the girl?” Dr. King asks curious, tugging her pretty blonde hair back into a bun before gloving up. 

“She’s currently in custody for stabbing her brother.” RD states and glances to James with a smirk. “OR 2 if I’m correct.” James cross his arms and rests his weight on his good foot. 

“The blade is still in his torso, and there’s a head laceration.  I was on my way up, to surgery but was pulled away for this.” He says harshly. 

“We needed your opinion…” one of the veteran doctors says and James glances back to the hand, feeling a pang of guilt… for a friend he hasn’t thought of for a long while. 

“On whether to amputate?” He asks and the veteran doctor nods. 

“Yes… the family gave us clearing to do whatever it takes to save their son. If we try and reattach there are countless problems that could arise, but dismembering could result in a lower quality of life.” they state and James frowns gloving up and grabbing his glasses and pulling them onto his nose. He crouches and runs his finger tips over the tips of the patients hand.  No reaction.  They only react when he touches above the laceration. 

“There’s not feeling.  How much pain medication is he on?” He asks and the RD speaks up. 

“2 milligrams of Morphine on the way here, and another 2 were pushed when we arrived.” 

“He should still feel that.” He states and stands stripping his gloves. “I say amputate. I don’t believe we could reattach, and if we do, it would probably result in needing to amputate later.” He says and steps back discarding of the gloves.  

“Thank you Dr. Michelson. You should get to your OR.” He says and James nods stepping out and grabbing slides from the Nurses station.  Moderate concussion, internal abdominal bleeding, but not hemorrhaging. This shouldn’t take long.  He hears a groan from the same room he was just in and his heart clenches. Thomas-

Stop. You’re at work. 

But his heart still hurts, because he was his friend, and he wasn’t able to help him as he was hurting-

Surgery.  Help this gentleman first then worry about his old life. 

“Dr. Michelson,” A security team member, a peppy little red head comes up to him, but she’s rather grim. 

“Theresa. What can I do for you,” He asks kindly and she hands him a folder. 

“Heads up. Your patient in OR 2 needs an HIV screening. The knife in him is the same one he was using to try and dismember your other gentleman.” He sighs. 

“I’ll let the surgical team know.  If you find anything else out let one of my interns know please.” he says and shuts the folder starting back to the OR. 

Just another day. 

\---

The cannons were finished the next day, and everyone working on them took extreme care to leave no traces of themselves on them. Biohazard suits and elbow length gloves are standard uniform for the next day, and by the time it’s done everyone is hot and worn.  They load them carefully into the back of all the cars, taking extreme care in keeping the glitter and confetti shut tight.  The rest of the night everyone is in their own corners of the estate, quietly mulling over what could happen, what could go right… what could go wrong. 

They don’t have much time to think, because soon enough it’s 2 am and they’re starting their trip north, their little caravan of cars, Margarita tagging along despite her parents insisting she comes home and threatening to shut off her phone. ‘

It takes 5 and a half hours to reach New York, specifically the Heights and John and Alex’s old apartment, and when they do the first thing out of anyone’s mouth is how big New York is. Philip laughs at Georges and shoves his lightly. 

“Come on you’ve never been to the big city?” He asks and Georges shakes his head. 

“First time out of state was when we transferred to Princeton.” He comments grabbing some of the bags and following Alex and John up the stairs.  Their party is making enough noise to awake the rest of the residents, but no one jumps from their apartments telling them to shut up, keep it quiet.  They just let it go and when John unlocks the door to their apartments Alex shouts and a thud is heard along with laughter. 

“Philip! Get up here- Margot ay dios that’s my stomach!” Alex shouts and laughs.  The rest of the people file in and step over Alex and the two girls who are climbing over him and chatting wildly. 

“Uh,” Philip says and Georges takes his bags as one of the girls looks at Philip confused and then speaks in the only way a child can. 

“Does John have a twin? Or did you make another John because you wanted another boyfriend?” She asks and Philip blushes furiously. 

“Brielle! Dear God no that’s not John.  That’s Philip.  He was my son.” Alex explains and shoots a look to his mother standing behind the couch. 

“Sorry honey, I tried to explain it to them, but they didn’t quite get it.” She says and smiles at Philip kindly, him getting bumped in the back by Maria and Margarita, but they apologize.  “I never got the chance to introduce myself… I’m Alex’s mom, here and then.” She says slowly and Philip squeezes out a small smile. 

“Hey, i’m uh… Philip.” He stutters and Georges is heard laughing from the guest bedroom. 

“Dude!  I know you’re more fluent than that! Speak!” He shouts poking his head out of the back room where they are storing everything till it’s time to go. 

“Georges!” He snaps and Rachel smiles seeing the exact same behavior in John and her Alexander when they were younger. Alex motions him to sit with him and Margot looks over Philip closely before speaking. 

“Is he ma bwotha? Or es he your baby?” Brielle giggles and pads over to Philip grabbing onto his curly hair playing with it.  

“You look like John, but mama said you’re Alex’s baby,” He smiles and pulls her to sit on his leg. 

“You’re right.” he says and Alex laughs loudly when Margot blows a raspberry on his cheek making Brielle giggle and shriek before doing the same to Philip and he’s laughing loudly as well.  

Eventually the twins are able to understand the concept that no Philip isn’t John, and yes he’s technically Alex and Eliza’s son, but not now, but before. They cling to the girls, specifically Maria and Sally, saying they’re both just so pretty, which makes them both blush. 

And for the night everything is okay.  

Everyone is happy.  

Everyone is safe. 

And no one is worried about death, or the consequences of what they plan to do in the next week. 


	7. 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahaha look who's not dead! I'm here I'm here!  
> Thank you for sticking around and as you are seeing this chapter is not as many words as the previous chapters. I am going to be shortening chapter length goals in hopes of more frequent updates! Thank you again for your patience!  
> LIFE UPDATE  
> Paper season and crack down time began and I'm working really hard to get mostly A's so bare with me. I will try to update but school is first. Also Big Little season is coming up and I'm super excited because there's a few girls who I really love and would be so excited to have as my little!! If I don't get them tho it's not the end of the world, I'd just appreciate being able to have one. 
> 
> Anyways thank you guys again for sticking around!

One day till the bomb.

One day till the world could change for the better - or so they hope. Everyone is strained, unable to determine what will happen after tomorrow. They could start a new revolution, or they could start their new deaths. 

No one knows. 

The night before their plan is set into action, the girls decide to go out; one last hurrah before things get serious. Elizabeth, Theo, Maria and Margarita sit on the spare bed as Adrienne twists and works Sarah’s hair into a manageable bun.

“Hold still, you’re gonna pull it out,” Adri tuts, tugging her hair back into place, bobby pins in her mouth.

“You’re tuggin’ on it!” Adrienne has no sympathy for her, and continues to tame Sarah’s hair.   

“Because it’s how we are going to make you beautiful-er,” she says and smiles at her from the mirror.  “Now stop moving,  chérie,” she adds with a tap on her head. 

“You look lovely,” Elizabeth comments watching her as Maria offers her a lipstick, claiming it will make her mouth pop.  

“Get you a cute boy too,” Margarita says, causing Elizabeth to blush and fumble with the tube. 

“Oh come on, I don’t need a man. I’ve been fine for years,” she answers brushing it off. She’s been fine watching John and Alex grow closer, if that was even possible, and then watching everyone else she loved fall in love… while she watched the man she loved fall in love with another. She won’t lie and say it didn’t sting, but she knows they couldn’t have been together like they were last time.  

Frankly, there’s so much going on she’s not sure if she even wants a boyfriend at the moment. 

“Listen, you’re gorgeous. If I was queer, I’d be all over you,” Adrienne states and pushes one more bobby pin in before smiling. 

“I… thanks?” Elizabeth replies, not quite sure if she should take it as a compliment. Adrienne doesn’t catch onto her confusion and shifts through their bag of clothes pulling out a simple but sexy outfit.

“This is good, right?” As no one makes a negative comment she continues: “Good. Go get changed, Sarah. I have some flats in the bag-”

“Adri-”

“I’ll be there, all night. And if anyone tries anything, punch them,” she accents the last words with a quick kiss on the forehead. Maria and Margarita meet eyes, fingers tangled in the sheets. 

It takes a moment before Sarah agrees. “Fine. But if we get kicked out, then it's your fault,” she snatches the clothes from her and disappears to the bathroom. 

“Kicked out?” Theo voices. Sarah’s so sweet she can't imagine her getting them kicked out.

“She punched a man for touching her butt once. The bartender sided with her, though, and only suspended her for a week,” Adrienne states while manipulating her braids off her face and retouching up her makeup. 

“I-”

“I love her, just wow,” Margarita says pulling her legs up to the bed. Sarah pops back into the room just as Thomas passes by. 

“You look nice, where are you going?” He asks casually. 

“Out with the girls. Dinner and a bar,” she responds and pouts in the mirror tugging her shirt around, working to hide different patches of her Vitiligo. 

“Chérie,” Adrienne sighs. “Stop it, you're beautiful,”

“You're going out?” He asks slowly.

“Well, yeah. After tomorrow we won't have the time. Kinda like a last hurrah, you know,” she says. 

“I don't like it.” Thomas comments. 

“Well I'm sorry but-”

“Don't go.” The words drop heavy in the air, everyone fall silent.  

“I… Peggy, come with me, let me show you the dent from when Alex got drunk…”Eliza's voice trails off as she takes her sister and Maria out with her. Adrienne stays. 

When the door closes, Sarah crosses her arms, eyebrows pushed together concerned. 

“You want me to stay behind? On the last chance we have to go out and have some fun?” She sounds childish, like she’s arguing with her mother who won’t let her go out on a Tuesday night. 

“I want you safe,” Thomas reasons. “We are doing something crazy tomorrow, and I don’t want you-”

“What? Don’t want me what? Going out?” She’s being immature. Or that’s how she feels.  

“I want you safe,” he repeats quickly and moves to cross the room. Adrienne frowns, putting herself between them. 

“I would take two steps back if I were you,” she says slowly and with bone chilling calmness. “Sarah, do you want to go?” 

“I… Yes.” 

“Then let’s go.” Sarah passes them and exits the room with her head down. Chatting starts in the hallway, quiet gossip whispers. They can hear the murmurs starting now, and soon enough everyone will know… 

Thomas doesn’t even know what they will know. 

“You,” Adrienne says fiercely, switching to French. “You are being a bitch. You are not her mother, you have no right to tell her to not go out with her friends. She is head over heels for you and I swear if you hurt her, I will personally see to it that you will never have another woman come within 500 feet of you. Am I clear?”  

Thomas swallows and nods. “Yes.” 

“Yes, what?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” He replies. She meets his eyes and nods before grabbing her jacket off the bed along with her clutch, switching back to English.

“Good. We will be back before 2 am. And by the way, as a lawyer, you should know that having an alibi is good. Especially before committing treason, so..” She leaves with that, and Thomas flinches when she slams the door after her, but doesn’t move until his phone buzzes in his pocket: a text from Gilbert. 

**Gil: are you coming back??? George is waiting for you before we start in-depth planning.**

A moment later, his phone buzzes again. 

**Gil: Also,,, Alex and Philip want coffee. Dark Roast, skim milk.**

Thomas sighs. He’s going to have to go back then. After checking that he has enough money in his wallet, he leaves for the coffee shop he knows Alexander frequented during college. 

**Thomas: Omw.**

Across town at Alex’s apartment the Latino lounges across the couch; John’s head in his lap. They’re both hot and sticky with sweat, the anxiety of the situation affecting both of them, leaving them to react how they know best.  

They’re covered in bruises, their muscles are sore, and Alex is almost certain George is about to force them into behaving. But he hasn’t and he just sits across from them with Gilbert pressed close, thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder. Hercules and Cato are on the floor, quietly playing cards to ease the tension, while Philip and Georges are on the other end of the couch talking with lowered voices as they go through memes, trying to lighten the mood. 

Finally, it's too much and Alex speaks: “What if-”

“Cariño,” John says, reaching up and running his fingers across his jaw. “It's gonna be okay.” 

“You can't be positive. If we’re caught, what will they do? They can't hang-”

“Alexander, stop it,” Gilbert cuts him off and sighs. “Sorry… I'm just as anxious as you are.”

“You're hiding it well,” Hercules says, scratching his neck. 

Alex swallows and can feel phantom fingers, scratchy and raw as they dig into his flesh. His fingers move to rub the skin and John grabs his wrist ready to chide him. 

“Alexa-”

“If you keep doing that, you're going to have a hole in your neck by the end of it,” his mother voices as she enters the apartment, carrying McDonald's. Brielle and Margot are behind her holding onto their father’s hands, both obviously worn and ready for bed. 

“I… I'm trying.” He practically pouts and John squeezes his hand before sitting up. 

“We know you are,” he reassures and leans back into is seat. 

“Pa, it’s gonna be fine. We’re smart,” Philip pipes up and runs his fingers through his hair. Alex holds back a biting remark, but Georges doesn't. 

“Pip, there's so much you don't get about war.”

“You know as much as-”

“No. I know this. Alex has every right to be anxious,” he says quickly before leaning forward and rubbing his temples, a headache setting in. “Merde. Sorry. Just-” he breathes out.  

“We get it,” Gilbert says and waves off his son. “I need a drink,” he stands suddenly, John calling after him for a beer as well. 

They sit in silence for a time, Margot and Brielle asleep, on the floor, curled up on a spare blanket. They sit in silence, no one wanting to speak and ruin their last chance for peace and quiet, when Thomas enters with the coffee’s for Alex and Philip, he can tell something is wrong. 

“What…” 

“Stressed,” Alex mumbles and cups his hands around the cup breathing deep. “So fucking stressed.”

“Alexander-” 

“Well, it’s true! If we fuck up, we’re dead. Or worse. Sent to England for their government to deal with us. I will place every last pound I have on the fact they won’t just let us rot in jail. They’ll kill us!” He’s pacing and his heart is hammering in his chest. He can’t let this happen; he’s so close to having everything - everyone he cares about in one place, safe from harm, only to risk it for a revolution that might not even work. 

“Alex, calm down,” John stands and touches his cheeks. 

“No! John, we could, could die!” he says and Gilbert stands. 

“Alexander,” Gilbert speaks and puts a hand Alex’s shoulder. 

“Don’t touch me, Laf-” He bites his cheek hard and his hands start shake. “Gilbert. Sorry… I don’t want to die,” he whispers and swallows down his pride. Philip suddenly feels very out of place, being the only one in the room who doesn’t remember death or the fear of war.

He stands before Georges pulls him down again. “Don’t… He might need you,” he comments quietly. 

George clears his throat to speak. “You're not going to die,” he says fiercely and stubbornly, unwavering in his declaration. 

“You said that last time!” As soon as the words are past his lips, Alex feels the guilt and hot shame. “Sir, I’m sorry. That's not-”

“Alexander. You need to think long and hard about your next words,” his mother states, and crosses her arms. How dare he, when he knows there is nothing George wouldn’t have given for his boys lives.

Alex wets his lips. Gilbert stands back; the words stung him as well. 

“We did everything we could with the resources we had,” George reminds him, inching closer to him with every word. “And as your general, I would suggest not mentioning the past failures of my command. Specifically ones that lead to your death, son-”

“I'm not your damn son!” Alexander snaps. As they stand chest to chest, George glares at him.  

It's quiet enough to hear a pin drop. 

Alexander steps away first. 

“Don't take that frustration out on us again. Do you understand?” George breathes. Alex nods. 

“Yes, sir.” George must accept it, because he turns to retreat to the kitchen. 

“You’re crazy,” John says from his seat. 

“I'm scared,” he corrects as he chews his cheek. “And fear makes men do crazy things.” 

“Like snapping at my boyfriend?” Gilbert asks frustrated. 

“Gil, come on, let it go,” Hercules says leaning back onto his arms and yawning. “He's stressed.”

“You're on his side?” 

“I'm just saying we’re all stressed. We’ve got to take a moment and breathe so we don't kill each other,” he says slowly. 

“Connerie-” 

“Stop! Yeah, this sucks and, sure, I don't know what's going on, but fighting won't fix any of this!” Philip fumbles for his words, unsure of what to say but wanting some peace. 

It seems to break them all from their anger. 

“Niño-” Alex starts, only to be cut off. 

“Cállate! This is so stupid! We are so close to getting where we need, and you’re throwing a fit because you’re scared!” Pip snap. “We’re all scared! Y’all know what to expect! I don’t! I know nothing, and I hear is  _ woh is me I might die again, _ and it's pissing me off.”

“Philip,” Georges squeezes his arm. “Come on,” he nods to the back room and he follows, the two talking between themselves in hushed voices. Alex watches and feels guilty almost immediately. How can he be so selfish? 

“God,” he rubs his face with the palm of his hand. “I….”

“He’s just frustrated. I’ve seen that look on you too many times, mijo,” Rachael says, sipping her tea. 

“Mama!” Alex flushes red and Gilbert chuckles. “Gil! Ugh, are all of you against me tonight?” He asks and sits back down with a huff. 

“No, we just know how you work when stressed,” George says coming back in with a water bottle filled to the brim, but not with water. 

“I work fine!”

“You stayed up for two days, working non stop on your English proposal.” John interjects. 

“It was important,” he mumbles and crosses his arms, pulling his legs up.

“Yes, and so were the three days you spent with Tallmadge in Valley Forge trying to decipher code,” Hercules comments and Cato sets down a draw four. “Mother fucker.” 

“And was the time you didn’t sleep sophomore year because you had to make sure you got a higher grade than Thomas did in History to 1877. And you didn’t.” John teases.  Alex smacks him with a pillow. 

“Rude.” 

Thomas smirks from his seat, the perfect image of relaxation. 

“I lived longer, what do you expect.” 

“Oh yes because 6 months means so much in the world we lived in.” Alex is all sass, masking his fear with snarky comments. 

“It did in France,” He’s goading Alexander and is fully aware he’s pushing the smaller man’s buttons.  Alex’s mouth twists up in a scowl, John squeezing his knee with a free hand as he tackles some game on his phone. 

“Chill babe, he’s screwing with you.” He yawns a moment later and settles against Alex, resting his cheek on the other man’s shoulder, eyes heavy and lidded. 

“Maybe it’s about time we all say goodnight.” George suggests, voice even, but hands tightly clenched in his lap, Gilbert’s large one covering his. 

“That wouldn’t be a bad idea.” Rachel offers and stands, Alex’s father looking at him before breathing deep. 

“Alex… You’re going to be fine.” He speaks quietly, never a man of many words. Alex has to press his lips together tightly to hide his wobbling chin. John turns and presses his mouth to Alex’s shoulder. 

“Go, I’ll be in bed,” he mumbles and stands swaying as he trudges to the bedroom. 

Within the next half hour everyone has ran off to their respective beds for the night.  Alex enters his and John’s room, stepping over Pip and Georges on the floor. He drops his shirt on the floor, and sits on the bed rubbing at his already raw face.  A brush of his hands across his neck causes him to inhale sharply, and his hands to shake. If he’s to die in the next month, he doesn’t want it to be shrouded in this disaster mentality, where he’s constantly on the edge of a panic attack. His fingers brush against his neck again, and for a moment he feels the jerk of pain, just behind his spine.

He presses his fingers to it, using the pain and memory to ground him. 

“Babe?” John slurs from behind him. “Babe are you okay?” He asks and reaches for him. “Come lay down.  It’s late,” Alex is maneuvered into a position where he’s laying down next to John under the covers. 

“Sorry,” He doesn’t know why he’s apologizing.

“Don’t.  You’re fine love. Just anxious.” John kisses his forehead. “Sleep. I’ll be here. I’m not letting anything bad happen to you.” He speaks softly, afraid to wake Pip and Georges.  

“Promise?” Alex sounds unbearably small, the question low and muffled by his shoulder. John can feel his shoulders hitching, every few breaths. 

“I promise. Now sleep honey,” he kisses his face and massages his wrist, eyes slipping shut. 

Alex takes a moment to absorb the situation and imprint it in his mind’s eye.  John Lara, previously Laurens, his beautiful tired boyfriend with enough freckles on his face to rival the stars in the sky, cares so deeply about him.  Cares enough that he will take time out of his busy schedule to talk Alex down to relaxation after an anxiety attack, promises him over and over that he is not a burden and his fears of the future aren’t unreasonable.  The one person he always has, and will continue, to trust with his own life is the one that lies beside him at night when the world stops spinning and it’s just their quiet voices and promises that they will pretend to forget in the morning to avoid the embarrassment. 

He let’s his own tired eyes shut as well, but not before pressing a kiss to John’s forehead, and wrapping his arms around him like a vice. 

And in the morning, everything is okay.  

\--- 

Frankie Lehmann couldn’t believe it. On the screen in the waiting room of her dance studio was an image of flashing lights and confetti raining down on Time’s Square.  She wouldn’t have been so surprised if it wasn’t the trailing text across the bottom. 

**Terror Attack On Times Square: 0 casualties**

As if that wasn’t enough for Frankie the reporter continues on, listing the names of the attackers, twisting her insides almost painfully. 

John Lara, previously Laurens. 

Her previously deadbeat father, is now being labeled a traitor, again, along with his friends who are just as rebellious. 

Hadley, previously Hamilton.  Marsielle previously Lafayette. Morrison previously Mulligan. 

The list continues on listing every single man and woman, except her mother, he was associated with in his past life. The same people that lead him to the gallows, and whom she doesn’t doubt, he would follow again. 

Was one lifetime of struggle not enough for him? Does he wish for the world to hate him  _ again _ even though he was given a second chance for a normal life.  One where he could find his family he so kindly abandoned when he ran off to the states the first time.  

Frankie is bitter.  Just a little bit. 

“Ms. Frankie! Is everything okay?” One of her hip hop students calls. 

“I… yeah.  Go over that set one more time, then you’re free to go.” She slips from the room, phone in hand as the TV drones on in the background, dialing a number she didn’t think she ever need. 

It rings twice before a chirpy voice answers.  “Thank you for calling the Mississippi State Orphanage, how may I direct your call?” Frankie swallows and is silent for a beat too long. “Hello? Ma’am-”

“I’d like to speak to your directors for the older girls.” She speaks quickly tripping over her words. 

“Of course ma’am. Are you thinking about adoption?” 

No.  But she knows the drill. “Yes… and I’ve visited before!” She adds it like an afterthought. 

“Wonderful give me one moment.” 

She waits listening to the stupid pop song, cursing to herself when 2 minutes become 5 and then 8.  It’s almost been 10 minutes before she’s able to speak to another representative, and when she does she’s rougher and sharper than she wishes. But she is connected to the girl she wishes, and with that connection she’s making plans to fly to Mississippi, and meet the girl. She has no idea whom she will meet and packs that night. 

Her father is a traitor.  This girl’s father is a traitor as well. But are they even able to be friends? Are people watching her every move? No one knows who she is, but she also doesn't exactly hide who she was.  Most people don’t know the Laurens name to begin with, and if they do, they don’t make the connection. She’s just a wild man’s daughter.  

As for Marti.  She’s being wrapped up in a conspiracy that no one realizes she’s a part of for now.  But soon enough she’s going to trapped in this hell of being  _ their  _ daughter, and that sends Frankie to tears. 

Marti doesn’t even know entirely who she is.  Vague, memories are all she has, but even those have damned her so early on. 

Frankie doesn’t doubt she would be in the same situation… if her mother had stuck around.  Daddy went to jail for touching another girl and mama must’ve thought it was too much being a single mother.  She doesn’t blame her, it’s couldn’t have been easy raising her; the bipolar disorder, the fits of not eating, and then devouring everything in sight, plus she’s bisexual. It must’ve been a lot for her young mama with her kind heart and head in the clouds. 

But did she have to leave so soon?

She pushes the thoughts from her mind and presses her lips to a thin line to stop them from quivering. 

It’s all too much too soon. Discovering her previously dead beat dad, is now not only alive and thriving, but is wasting his life on rebellion once again.  The news has been flashing his picture all day, pulled from his social media.  He’s smiling, a stupid rainbow handprint across his cheek and face, and is holding hands with another young man, with a pink, purple and blue colored hand print across his neck and shoulder. 

It doesn’t take much for her to assume it’s his boyfriend, maybe fiance by this time, since the photo is from Pride two years ago. 

She tells herself she doesn’t care- shouldn’t care- but she does all too much.  Despite all the hate the media is spewing when it comes to rebels, she wants to find her father and take advantage of this opportunity to meet him. 

She wants a dad.

Not like she’d ever admit that to anyone else. She just wants a normal life, with a father who stuck around for longer than it takes to feel up the next pretty thing he can find. 

She places her hands between her thighs, squeezing them tightly and breathing slowly.  She needs to focus on the here and now, not what could’ve and rightfully should’ve been. 

She's not sure what hurts more. Knowing her current father not only has deserted her, or that this is the second time she has been without a father in her life. 

Frankie stands and moves to her kitchenette, making a small cup of hot chocolate.  The neon green light on the coffee pot says 12:13. 

_ I need to sleep _ , she thinks to herself as she pours herself a cup of cocoa, but does the exact opposite of sleep. She needs to get started towards the airport soon. She sips the cocoa and slips out of her apartment onto the balcony.  It’s warm in the Florida night air and she tucks her feet under her.  She’ll have to leave in the next forty minutes if she wants to make it to the airport in time for her flight. 

She runs her thumbs across her cup and swallows the sweet cocoa as she thinks. She has two options.  She could grab Marti and they could run across the French border. They’d be safe for a while, she could probably manage to sneak them to Mexico. 

But there’s also the other option… They could join the rebellion. It’s crossed her mind before, and embarrassing amount of times for someone who wants to avoid the conflict at all costs.  She pushes her hair off her face and sets the mug to the side as she tugs it up into loose bun, pieces falling to frame her face. 

She watches the boats sail into the harbor, unloading their late night supplies to cargo trucks.  The crisp sea breeze fills her modest balcony with the scent and she breathes deep.  If this is the last bit of Tampa she gets until she comes home, she wants to remember it. She breathes deeper and stands to lean on the railing and looks out.  The bright lights from the commercial district that use to keep her up shine, and the load bullhorn of a ship sounds. 

She use to hate this city.  Hated the sounds and sights.  Said it was nothing without mama and daddy together, and knowing daddy was off in prison two miles away hurt. 

Frankie backs away from the railing and grabs her mug trotting inside.  She needs to change before the flight.  She sips her mug and sets it aside. She’ll need more coffee too. She changes and with one last double check on her bags she changes and she calls the Uber.

\---

“Where the hell did he go!” Philip shouts as they meet at Hercule’s apartment.  

“Thank you for waking the entire city.” Georges mumbles and picks glitter from his braids. Philip groans. 

“Out of all the people to ditch I would’ve thought Pa not Thomas!” He paces and runs his hands anxiously through his closely cropped curls. “Where is he anyways! He said he’d be here!” He asks the hysteria rising.  Hercules, who had ducked into the back bedroom, reappears with a burner cell phone to his ear. 

“Yeah we’re here.  Your kid is flipping shit hurry up.” He says before hanging up and sighing. “Sorry little dude.  He got caught in traffic out of there. Said he’d be another fifteen minutes at least. Gil is with John and they’re coming in from the south…. Hopefully.” Herc says and stares at the map he pinned on the wall last minute this morning. His eyes trace the line of string that leads them back to the apartment. He worries his lower lip and crosses his arms. 

“God damnit Hamilton.” He grumbles, already set back into a military mindset. Philip watches Hercules as Georges runs his hands through Philip’s short curls. 

“Relax baby,” He says quietly, leaning into Philip.  He needs support too, almost as much as Philip does. 

“They should be here soon-”

“Mother fucker! I’m gonna fucking kill those cops, who do they think they are stopping me!  It’s ‘cause I’m fucking Latino ain’t it!” John swings the door open shouting with a disapproving look from a worn Gilbert following him in. 

“Screaming will not fix your problems Johnathon.” He says evenly, but his hands shake. 

“They’re fucking racist!” He snaps turning, his hands in fists as gestures wildly. His hair is coming out of the bun, pieces falling haphazardly around his face. “And Alex! Where the hell is he, God he was with Thomas, who’s bright idea was it-”

“Yours,” Gilbert says and John stops and flushes red glaring at the floor. 

“Pa’s fine, he’s not stupid.” Philip says almost like a prayer.  He has to be okay, fate wouldn’t be that cruel would it? The girls come through the door, Margarita and Elizabeth first, and then Adrienne and Theodosia. 

“Where’s Sarah.” Adrienne is barely through the door when the words are out of her mouth. She looks around frantically almost as if she expects her to materialize out of thin air.  “Where’s Sarah!” She looks to Gilbert and he frowns, looking around trying to figure the answer out for himself.  

“Wasn’t she with you?” He asks and she nods before pacing anxiously. 

“She was, and then Thomas called her and we crossed paths with Thomas and he and her ran off and,” She starts mumbling in French too fast for anyone to translate besides Gilbert.  He stops her and catches her mid-pace before turning her to face him.  He speaks in low calming tones before leading her off to the kitchen. Hercules watches anxiously before directing his attention to Elizabeth and Theodosia. 

“Did either of you see Alex coming back?” He asks quietly. Dori pats his cheek as she passes.  

“Don’t worry yourself.  Alexander is smart.” Elizabeth nods in agreement but has already moved to be next to Philip, speaking slowly. 

They’re all strung up about this. 

Just like Alex said, it’s risky, and with a majority of them still out, including George plus Thomas and Sarah are missing. It’s nerve wracking. 

It takes another two hours for everyone to get back, Alexander and George being the last to arrive, getting caught in the mess that was the security detail surrounding the city.  Upon arrival Alex makes a bee-line to Philip, passing John and leaving him standing there, forlorn as he drops his arms, waiting for a hug from his boyfriend.

“Pip, are you okay? Did you get hurt? How was it-”

“Pa I’m fine,” Philip feigns embarrassment, but he doesn’t push Alex away.  He’s wished for a father for so long, for one that cared enough to stick around. 

“You promise?” Alex asks and Pip nods. 

Across the room George is calling Thomas from the burner cell phone, no answer each time. “God damnit.” He grumbles and pushes the numbers to call him again. 

Still no answer.  

Having heard George from the kitchen Gilbert pokes his head out. Seeing George pacing and frustrated, Gilbert’s mind’s eye replaces the hallway of Hercule’s apartment with the entrance to headquarters at Valley Forge. 

“Amour,” Gilbert says quietly and George glances up.  The years show on his face, in the growing valleys around his mouth, and the crows feet by his eyes. 

“Thomas has deserted us.” George states it simply. 

“I doubt he did.” Gilbert supplies, taking George’s hand and squeezing it fiercely tight. “It’s Thomas-”

“Gil he’s voiced his disapproval multiple times.  I wouldn’t be surprised if he ran off.”

“But to sell us out?” He asks and George closes his eyes momentarily before glancing aside. “You have to think logically. He wouldn’t sell us out. He’s one of us.” Gilbert says evenly, almost like he needs to remind himself too.  George wets his lips. 

“I’ll try him again later. Maybe Adrienne has Sarah’s phone number,” He says slowly and leans into Gilbert. Their embrace is short lived, George being called into the living room. Alex and John sit flushed together with Elizabeth pressed to Alex’s other side.  The screen shows news coverage of the  _ attack _ focusing in on the suspect. Specifically one suspect. 

Thomas Jenkins. 

“Holy fucking shit,” Georges says mouth open. 

“Georges!” Adrienne scolds but Philip only backs him up. 

“He’s a fuckin’ traitor-”

“Stop.” Elizabeth says reaching and pinching Philip behind the knee.  He shouts out and Elizabeth shoots him a glare over her shoulder.  Alex is beside her gripping John’s hand tightly, holding onto Elizabeth’s knee. 

“We’re dead,” Alex mumbles and lowering his head into his hands. John reaches around him and rubs his back, his other hand coming to brush his hair away from his neck. 

“We’re gonna be fine,” He says evenly and presses a kiss to his neck. “Relax Alex,” Elizabeth leans to him and takes his other hand. 

“Have we ever let you down? It’s gonna be okay,” She says and Alex shrugs running his hands through his hair, pausing momentarily to fiddle with the ends. 

“You never meant to… but that’s not the point!” He says and Elizabeth pokes his shoulder smiling.   

“Shush…” her smile slowly fades.”Do you think we’ll be okay?” She asks softly and to no one in particular.  This time Georges responds. 

“I’ve been through one revolution too many. But I think we’ll be fine.” 

“You died at like 15 though-” Hercules pipes up only to get cut off with a steely glare. 

“For family.” He says and fiddles with his nose ring, before dropping his hand and wetting his lips. Philip leans to him and says something softly in his ear before Georges releases a breath. “It doesn’t matter,” He’s heard saying under his breath. 

“Regardless. We have work to do. Pack up we need to get back to Virginia.” George says and screws the top of a water tighter than needed. “Police may eventually get videos of the rest of us… and I don’t want to think of what that may entail.”

“Whatever it is we will find out.” Alexander mumbles and John nods from beside him. 

“Amen.” 

“But it’ll work out, right?” Philip comments.  Alex reaches back to pat his son’s knee. 

“Yeah.  It’ll work out.” He makes the empty promise and kisses John’s knuckles. “It’ll be okay.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me on Tumblr!


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Returning to Mount Vernon and dealing with that. Also Frankie and Marti, plus Alex is a smol anxious boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm. So. Good. At. Updating.   
> I hope to update more frequently, so just bear with me. If I do update more often do expect my chapter length to shorten, but I have no promises!   
> Thanks for bearing with me and sticking by! Happy Easter!

“Jefferson!” Alexander slams the door open before John can stop him. 

“Alex-” John goes to stop him but Alex is already marching down the hall, his jacket and bags thrown to floor. 

“Jefferson! You damn fuck!” He shouts and pulls open the sliding door to the living room to see Thomas Jenkins, embarrassed and red, chopsticks in hand halfway to his mouth, noodles falling back to the carton.  Sarah sits at his side, red and flustered. 

“Sarah!” Adrienne pushes past Alex to Sarah and pulls her into a hug. John comes behind and wraps his hand around Alex’s bicep holding tightly. 

“What the fuck Jeffer-”

“Call me that one more time!” He snaps and sets his carton on the table with a thud standing up. 

“Bet I fucking will! You ditch us and pull Sarah away too? Who the hell do you think you are?” He snaps pulling himself free from John’s grip.

“We could’ve been caught-”

“We wouldn’t have been! But you decided to run off and put the whole thing in danger!” Alex accents the sentence with a hard push against Thomas’s chest. 

“Touch me one more time  _ Hamilton _ .” he spits the words and glares down at him. John grabs Alex by the arm and pulls him back. 

“Alexander,” John snaps.  Gilbert grabs Thomas’s arm and pulls him back as George enters the estate.

“Thomas. Stop and think.” He orders.  Hercules frowns dropping bags on the steps. 

“Guys-” he starts but is cut off. 

“I asked to go home.” Sarah says, cheeks red, standing up. She’s obviously frustrated and  Adrienne’s hands fall from her shoulders and hang, weakly grasping Sarah’s. 

“But you knew-”

“And I was scared! Is that okay? Am I allowed to be scared?”  She snaps and pulls her hands away. It almost looks like a lovers quarrel, and when Adrienne starts speaking in fast but quiet French, Sarah reacts like it is a fight.

John doesn’t loosen his grip on Alexander, and Elizabeth is bickering with them as well. Philip and Georges stand to the side having their own tight conversation.  The room has turned into an ocean of white noise that with no rhythm or meaning. No one can find a source for the bickering, and even Dori jumps in, snapping at Philp over a comment. 

“What do you even know about being safe.  You’re a child, you never went through war.” She bites, making Phillip step back. 

“Leave him out of this-” Georges steps in to defend him but Dori turns on him as well. 

“If he should be left out, he shouldn’t be here.” She snaps. “He knows nothing of war and is only going to get himself killed.” Alexander hears this and turns on her. 

“Dori leave him alone, he’s just a kid.” 

“And? We’re all kids!” she retorts throwing her hands up dramatically. “You think we know what we’re doing but the only person who seems to have any idea is George! We don’t know what we’re doing, all we know is we’re going to fight some damn war we don’t need to be a part of!” Tears stream down her cheeks but she ignores them. 

“So you don’t want revenge on them for murdering you and Aaron in cold blood! You have no ill will against them!” Elizabeth bites turning her attention to Dori.  

“Isn’t living a peaceful life enough? Not getting pulled into another a war enough for you?” She demands. Elizabeth runs her hands through her hair playing with the ends. 

“No it’s not! They came to our house and drug me out in the middle of the night, only a year after Alexander was killed! They killed me and my son in cold blood! How do you think I feel!” She demands. Alexander takes her hand and runs his thumb over her knuckles. 

“Don’t worry yourself over it Bet-”

“They killed me too! A day after the rest of you were! And my daughter was old enough to know what was going on, unlike Philip.  He doesn’t remember war. If she was here today she would.” She spits, and finally sucks down a breath, sobs shaking her entire frame. For a moment no one moves to help her, letting her just shake until her legs give out and she falls to her knees. Hercules is at her side instantly and pulls her up shushing her. 

“It’s okay, come on, upstairs.” they disappear out of sight, leaving tension so thick it chokes all conversation off. 

Thomas is the first to move. He reaches for his phone and jacket. “I’m leaving-” 

“Like hell you are!” Alex snaps and moves towards him. 

“Fuck off  _ Hamilton _ .” He snaps but Alex continues to fume.

“Don’t do this Jefferson. You walk away, you’re dead to us.” He says and Thomas frowns, but doesn’t slow down. 

“Don’t care.  This is bullshit, Dori was right.” He stands tall and is ready to walk out when a knock sounds on the front door.  All his courage disappears instantly, the color draining from his face. 

Quiet whispers circle before George can hold a hand up and silence them. They all have the same fear they’ve been discovered. “Stop talking. No one leaves.  Is anyone carrying?” he asks stiffly. Alex nods and George motions for the weapon. Pulling it from his waistband, Alex hands it over begrudgingly. 

“John. Come with me.” 

“But George!” He protests at first and Alex grabs his hand. 

“Sir!” 

“He’s the best damn shot we have.” He says and meets eyes with John.  John sucks down a breath and then turns to face Alex, taking his face in his hands and kissing him squarely on the mouth. 

“I’ll be fine. You think I’ll just desert you here?” He says with a small smile leaning his forehead against Alex’s.

“Don’t be reckless…” The words hang there like there’s more he wants to say.  He knows logically John should be fine, but everything that has happened has his anxiety skyrocketing. He kisses his mouth again before George clears his throat as the door is knocked again.

“I hate to rush, but John.” George says holding the gun out.  He takes it and holds it tightly following without a glance back.  Alex clenches his fists tightly, and watches him go. 

“He’s gonna be okay Alex,” Elizabeth says quietly but Alex doesn’t react, only collapses and runs his hands through his hair. 

“Does he know he’s over-” Thomas starts but is immediately cut off. 

“Shut the fuck up Jefferson or I swear to God I will kill you.” He hisses. Elizabeth rubs his back and glares at Thomas.  

“Really? Not the time. You were so much nicer during school.” She observes. Thomas flushes and turns away, stalking into the other room but not entirely out of sight yet. 

From the corridor George is arguing quietly with the gentleman at the door, John standing out of view, but gun gripped tightly in his hand. His hands shake as he adjusts his grip on the weapon. 

“Sir, I know you’re worried, but I swear I’m on your side!” The gentleman speaks in low tones, and keeps shifting his weight. 

“I have no clue what you’re talking about, now please leave my residence.” George tries to shut the door, but the gentlemen places his foot between the door and the hinge.  The force that George shut the door with should have at least made the man wince, but there’s no reaction. 

“Please. I promise-”

“I suggest you leave.” George says.  John catches George’s eyes and he shifts his grip on the pistol.  

Thomas can see the entire ordeal play out from his spot in the foyer. He doesn’t recognize the man, but the conversation is intriguing. He’s slowly inching closer to the door trying to hear more. 

“Please hear me out-” The man says again, but George resists. He presses a hand to the boys chest and pushes back. 

“I suggest you leave.” He say again and actually uses force this time, pushing him back. 

“George!” He snaps and grips the door’s molding and holding on as not to fall over. George frowns and John steps out and stands behind George. 

“I think you should leave.” He says slowly holding the pistol up.  The gentleman holds his hands up in surrender. 

“Hey I don’t mean any harm-”

“Leave.” He repeats.  Thomas stands in the doorway and frowns watching. The gentleman makes eye contact with Thomas and frowns, thinking. “Stop that.  Get out of here.” John says, his voice wavering slightly. The last thing he wants to do is shoot - harm - an innocent bystander, a curious citizen. 

“I… Do I know you?” He asks and Thomas freezes up. 

“Thomas get -”  George starts but is cut off by the outsider.

“Thomas… Jeff-”

“How the hell would you know that name.” Thomas hisses, outing himself with his reaction. He corners the other figure, pulling him inside and caging him against the wall on arm pressed against his sternum . The person struggles with his balance, grabbing onto Thomas’s arm. 

“I, please-” 

“Who are you!” Thomas demands cutting off the man’s stuttering. 

“Thomas let him go! For fuck’s sake!” John says and grabs Thomas by the arm and pulling him back.  He releases the man who coughs and clears his throat. 

“I-” He coughs again. “I’m sorry.  But I need to know. Thomas Jefferson?” He says again. Thomas visibly tenses under John’s hand. He has to hold him back. 

“How the hell do you know that name?” Thomas demands. His hands shake. 

“I… I was James Madison-” 

“Prove it.” Thomas demands. George watches on silent, knowing the group in the living room is still listening in. Thomas watches the man for a moment before he speaks up. 

“I… Fall 1771. I had just finished University and you saw me. Decided to take me under your wing.” He says and Thomas frowns. 

“Name two of the places we traveled in Fall of ‘75.” He demands. 

“Monticello. You were writing the draft of the Declaration, and had a nervous tick of chewing on the quill. We also went to Pennsylvania. You visited Dolly’s family with me.” He says.  Thomas all but deflates at the comments. 

“Lower your gun John.” Thomas says slowly.  John doesn’t budge, held in position until George gives the order.  “John-”

“It’s alright son,” John’s arms shake and he lowers his weapon and flicks the safety on.  

“Fucking hell,” His head hurts, a stress headache.  

“Go back to the others.  Madison-”

“Michelson now actually,” he interjects and Thomas can’t help but smile, weak and tired, but still a smile nonetheless. 

“Jenkins. Come in.  We have a lot to catch up on.” He says causing James to laugh. And that makes Thomas laugh.  The first real laugh since they executed their plan. Maybe this is what he needed. Not running away… but a real friend. 

\----

Frankie was use to thick headed adults who didn’t listen to her, but the director of Mississippi State Orphanage is the toughest she’s had to deal with. 

“I swear, Martha Freeman is my cousin! Her parents are shit and dropped her off here for no reason other than they don’t like her!” Frankie shouts at the director who just looks bored. 

“I have told you before Ma’am you need to have official documentation explaining your relation and reason for removal. She is a minor-” 

Frankie slams her hand down on the table.  “I don’t care! I have to-”

“Frankie!” Marti runs down from the staircase grabbing Frankie and hugging her tightly, a grin on her face. She squeezes her tightly and whispers, “Thank you,” Frankie hugs her back just as tight the two girls swaying in place for a moment. This is the first time they’re meeting and it revolves around Frankie trying to steal her away from here.  

“You’re welcome.” She whispers back. The director clears his throat pulling their attention away from each other. 

“Until we have proof of your relation, you two are aware Martha will have to stay here.” He says slowly.  Frankie frowns. 

“Really? Because she’s two weeks to her 17th birthday.” She replies.  

“We are aware. But at this time she is still a ward of the state and will remain so until she is  _ legally _ adopted or turns 18.” The director says. 

“What would it take to adopt her.” Frankie says and Marti sighs. 

“Don’t I get a say?” She asks. The director glares at her, obviously displeased. 

“No-”

“Yes.” Frankie says.  Marti glares at the director. “Do you mind if we speak alone.” 

“Yes. We do.” The director says. Frankie glares. Of course they do and it’s probably only because she’s hispanic. 

“Racist bitch,” She mumbles. 

“Frankie.” Marti chides and sighs.  Frankie smiles though, pleased with herself. She squeezes Marti closer for a moment.  

“We’ve talked about her joining my dance squad-”

“Her?” the director says and Marti glares. 

“Yes. We have.  She’d be a wonderful addition, she’s incredibly skilled.” Frankie says.  “You have let girls go before 18 before if they were going to work or had exceptional skills.” She says.  Marti grins from Frankie’s side. 

“You let that one girl go last month because she was offered a modeling job.  And that guy in January because he was offered a full ride scholarship to Yale.” She points out. “How is this any different?” She presses, flipping her blonde curls over her shoulder. The director frowns. 

“Because those are actual skills-”

“Modeling is nowhere near as hard as dancing!” Frankie snaps and steps forward. “Sure you have to manage weight and look nice, but you have a team for that. College. Hey congratulations but it’s not for everyone.  But this is something she enjoys. Who are you to keep her from this!” She demands. The director stares down his nose at Frankie, face unreadable. 

“You come into my facility and demand something you know is unreasonable. And expect me to just hand it over?” He says.  Frankie doesn’t waver, but does jump when Martha speaks up. 

“I’d be off your hands, and you wouldn’t have to-” 

“That’s also illegal. Our final answer is no.  If you would like to apply for a work release you know where you can get the proper forms.  So if you do not mind,” He says and sends a pointed look at Frankie. She holds his gaze refusing to break away first, but her resilience is not as strong as his. She looks away and Marti deflates. 

“You two will be able to visit. But Martha Freeman is still a ward of the state.” He says and turns. “If you really wish to leave for work, then please fill out a work permit.” 

As he walks out Marti leans into Frankie. “I’m sorry.  I thought that was going to work.” She says quietly. Frankie shrugs. 

“Don’t worry about it.  We’ll figure it out.” She says and breathes out slowly. The other officials disperse but Frankie knows they’re watching them over cameras. “Is there a kitchen? Or like somewhere we can sit and talk?” She asks and then blushes. “God I’m the worst,” She mumbles.

“How? The we finally meet and you don’t even say hi or the trying to break me out of this orphanage thing?” She asks leading the way.  

“Both,” She confesses and Marti laughs. 

“Well thank goodness you finally admit that,” She laughs. It’s a nice sound, but not one she would expect to hear for long. For now though, seeing there’s a chance to get Marti out of here and head to D.C., is refreshing. 

It gives her hope that they can find their fathers, even though there are unresolved feelings. And maybe this time, something can come from it. 

\---

There was very little that scared Alexander. He’d been through a war, lived in the trenches, listened as men died, and watched as they slipped a noose around the neck of his friends. He’d survived racism in Florida and been called all sorts of names through High School and College after he came out.  But nothing like this. 

Seeing George V, an unashamed and public reincarnation of the same George who had them hung, on the television. 

_ “We have received news that there has been an attack on our great country. Evidence implies this is a terrorist attack from inside our own borders.  Let it be known we are working with our overseas law enforcement to combat this problem and will deal with it as necessary.”  _

Alex’s heart is in his throat, and his hands shake before he grips the edge of the couch tighter.  He’s alone in the room, no one here to tell him it’s okay and not to worry. He stares at the TV his breathing picking up and making his heart race. 

There’s nothing he can do but watch this man speak on the television and promise to “Take care of this skirmish.” 

It’s exactly what Alex had feared, being found out and then  _ dealt with _ . He’s not stupid, he knows that means imprisonment or death. He’s already seen death, and it’s not a time he wishes to remember. 

He’s jerked from his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder. He jumps and their George squeezes once.  This George has always looked out for them, always been the one who would try and lead his men to victory. And he loved his boys. 

“So you’ve seen.” He says quietly and Alex nods slowly, eyes glued to the screen.  He can’t bear to tear them away. 

“Yes.” 

“How do you feel.” George asks and moves to sit next to him. 

“I…” He swallows. “I understand now why you wouldn’t let me on the battlefield.” Alex says quietly. George smirks. 

“Do you now?” He asks and Alex nods. 

“Yes.  Knowing I could be bringing Philip into this mess… he’s just a kid.”

“He’s only a few years younger than you.” George says and Alex shakes his head and swallows as a commentator speaks about the King’s words. 

“And he’s my son… my only damn son and I’d be sending him into a war he doesn’t need to be a part of.” Alex says quietly but fiercely. He moves to stand and George keeps him seated with a hand on his shoulder. 

“And he is your son.  You think he would let himself be crushed so easily?” George says unable to stop a smile. Alex sighs but nods. George is right but he won’t admit it. He picks at his nails and the skin around them as the commentator continues. 

_ “There is very little left to the imagination.  King George is calling for a full stop on these attacks and it sounds as if he is willing to use force to do so.” _ Alex shakes his head and looks at the ground. There’s no way they would. 

“Do you think this would bring about a war…” Alex asks quietly. 

“Wasn’t that expected?” George asks.  There’s footsteps heard on the stairs. 

“Yes… but is it really what we want?” He asks quietly. “I know we all agreed… but sir… I can’t die again. I really can’t.” He says quietly and bites his cheek. 

“Babe?” Alex looks over the back of the couch and see’s John standing in the light of the kitchen holding a water bottle. “You okay?”

“I’m fine…” John rolls his eyes unconvinced. 

“Sure you are.  You’re a shit liar.” He says coming and sitting on Alex’s other side.  He rests his head on Alex’s shoulder. “Talk to me querido,”

“I’m anxious.” 

John nods. “I bet.” 

“And nothing is going to work out, and I’m gonna lose you and Philip and Betsy, again.” he says quietly and quickly. 

“You don’t really mean that.” John says squeezing his shoulder. 

“I do.” He swallows. “John. I can’t do it again. I can’t. You know I-” 

John presses a kiss to his jaw and then his mouth. “You can do anything Alexander. You have to believe yourself and us.  We wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you,” He says taking his hand and setting his water bottle on the floor. 

“Don’t promise me that,” He says quietly.  John shakes his head. 

“I gotta. You’re the best thing I’ve ever had.” John says with a small tired smile. Alex blushes and turns pressing his cheek to John’s. 

“You ass,” He mumbles into his skin as he deflates into John’s side. He wraps his arms around Alex and smirks, pressing a kiss to his head. 

“Come on, you need to relax.” He says and pulls him up. 

“Be safe-” 

“We’ll be smart George,” John says and Alex laughs, his face pressed to John’s shoulder. The two disappear upstairs, holding each other and talking quietly.  It’s like a secret language is being spoken between the two of them, but George understands his boys. They need this outlet for their anxiety, a way to let their stress out without hurting each other or anyone else. If the result is they have a lot of sex, so be it. 

George watches the broadcast continue. 

_ “The only things we have now are some Twitter accounts with inflammatory tweets in respects to the King.  As we know this is considered punishable by law, and could result in imprisonment or death if we discover the tweets to be dangerous enough.”  _

Behind George someone clears their throat.  He looks over his shoulder and behind him stands Gilbert. 

“Mon chou,” he says and moves to George’s side and presses a kiss to his head. “Why are you still up it’s past midnight,” 

“Found Alexander down here. He was…” He searches for the words and Gilbert chuckles. 

“Being Alex,” Gilbert supplies with a small laugh. George smiles. It’s true. Alexander hasn’t changed form when he knew him the first time.  It’s nice to see his boys happy and moving on with their lives. Everything could stop now, and his boys could move forward and have relatively normal lives.

“George,” Gilbert pipes again. He looks back to Gilbert who sighs. “Come to bed. You need to sleep too General,” He teases pressing his cheek to George’s. 

“I’ll be up in a moment. Let me turn everything off.” He says pressing a kiss to Gilbert’s mouth. He retreats up the stairs leaving George to shut down.  Climbing the stairs he can hear Sarah and Thomas talking in low tones. He tries to ignore it and not intrude, but he was caught off guard. 

“Thomas no.  I’m going to Adri for the night.” She has her blanket in her hand and Adrienne is across the hall her door open. 

“But Sarah,” Thomas starts and Sarah shakes her head moving from his reach and closer to Adrienne’s.

“Thomas-” 

“Thomas.  Do not make me get more involved. She said no.” Adrienne says and easily takes her to her room. Sarah throws a glance over her shoulder but Adrienne tugs on her hand. “Come on, I have The Office queued,” She says as the door closes.  Thomas frowns watching the door shut and Gilbert clears his throat, pulling Thomas’s attention away. 

“Thomas,” Gilbert says stepping up to the second floor. 

“Gilbert,” he responds evenly. 

“I hate to pry but I hope everything is okay between you two.  Adrienne told me how excited she’s been to find you,” He says. He knows guilt tripping isn’t becoming but he couldn’t live with himself if something happened to her - to anyone here. 

“I know Gil… I’m going back to bed.  Goodnight.” He disappears back into his room and Gil sighs before starting back to his and George’s room. 

Gilbert doesn’t want anything to happen to any of them. These people are all he has left, and he considers them family at this point.  He found himself alongside them. 

The floor creaks behind him as he opens the door to his and George’s room. He looks behind him and see’s George coming his way. He smiles tiredly and places a hand on Gilbert’s waist when he gets to his side. “Come to bed,” He accents with a kiss on the cheek. 

And Gilbert goes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on tumblr @jeffersoff

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Out of Time](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9314483) by [hamil-done (outofthedeck)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/outofthedeck/pseuds/hamil-done)




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